The Arabian Doll
by Shine Q
Summary: Trowa, a respectable doll maker, finds himself in trouble when forced to use a blue eyed blonde as his Arabian model. Little does he know that the man is not only authentically Arab but an interesting work of art as well.
1. Part One

**The Arabian Doll [Part One]**

The air was cold even without the wind blowing. The tip of his nose was bright red as a result of the freezing weather. Even his cheeks started to feel numb despite his efforts to cover them up with his gloved hands. Refuge was only a few steps away, yet he thought it absurd to call such a place his refuge. It was an ice cream shop after all.

Trowa shook his head. It was just like Duo to seek comfort in the most unlikely places even if it were the last place he'd ever think of spending a cold afternoon.

"My fingers," he murmured to himself and abandoned the warmth that was being delivered to his cheeks. Instead, he stuffed his already gloved hands into his coat pockets. He was almost at his destination anyway.

When he arrived, Trowa opened the glass door to find that the jingle of tiny bells above him needlessly announced his arrival. All the patrons in the shop couldn't help but look toward his direction. Trowa nodded although he was greeting no one in particular. There was just something about other people's eyes on him that forced a curt greeting out.

"Trowa."

Trowa turned his head toward the direction of the voice and found his target. Duo Maxwell was sitting comfortably on one of the cushioned chairs, stuffing his mouth with what looked like strawberry ice cream sprinkled with peanuts. It was hard not to notice when it was all over his mouth.

"Did you find one?" Trowa started without first greeting his long-time friend. It was useless to make small talk when he knew that the other would start anyway. 

He took out his coat and his gloves and noticed how warm it was inside the cozy little shop. Satisfied that he wasn't going to freeze any further, he took a seat opposite Duo. His friend was continuing to enjoy his ice cream as he talked.

"Geez, Trowa. Where's the friendly greeting?"

Trowa didn't answer and instead stared at Duo with as much indifference as a rock sitting on the ground. In truth, he was more fascinated with the concoction before his eyes. Layers upon layers of creamy ice cream were piled on top of four glorious slices of banana. The presentation was not bad. In fact, the syrup dripping from the top was perfectly balanced against the sprinkle of nuts scattered all over the dessert.

"Tro, are you listening?"

He nodded apathetically as if his mind was not wandering as much as it was. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from Duo's current treat and rubbed his hands together, remembering to check each of his long, pointed fingers.

"You haven't been researching, have you?" he asked without looking up. In addition to friendship, Duo shared a more professional kind of relationship with him. Duo was head of his research and development department, if you could call it that. Well, he was head because he was the only one working in the department but at least it made his comrade feel special.

"I have!" Duo defended. "In fact, did you know that the Neapolitan ice cream was first invented in a town of the same name somewhere in Italy? They were the first to combine chocolate, vanilla and strawberry and turn it into something completely different."

Trowa put his hands down on the table and then regarded the head of his research department, the only employee he actually had.

"I meant about the Arabian doll. Did you find an Arabian model?"

Duo looked surprised that Trowa had asked such a thing when in fact he was supposed to have already found the model. When he finally remembered what he was supposed to be doing, he hit his head with the back of his hand, making sure to avoid the sticky leftovers that were covering it.

"Oh that research," Duo said while sending him a sheepish gin. "I found this book."

Trowa reached for the offered book, making sure to pay attention to the title.

"Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," he read aloud. It was a strange title, but the book sounded familiar somehow. It felt like the types of bedtime stories that parents would read to their children before sending them off to bed.

Trowa opened the book and examined the inside, taking note of the multitudes of illustrations that littered the pages. Inside were pictures of exotic people dressed in extravagant silks that barely covered their bodies. Some of the illustrations depicted men in vests and square hats riding camels and walking on desert sands.

Trowa closed the book and returned it to Duo.

"I wanted an Arabian male," Trowa said quite simply. Duo looked disappointed.

"Can't you work with pictures?" his friend said while delivering another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Trowa leaned back. His newest job was difficult. He knew it from the moment he took it. However, it was doable and anything that was requested of him, he was sure to fulfill. Still, the job was different. It was the type he had been waiting for. It was the project he had wanted to do for so long, yet it was complicated in its own way. The model was hard to find. He could already guess by the way Duo presented him with the book that finding the right person was almost impossible. His comrade had always been the best in finding the models fit for his projects, so if Duo didn't find it then it meant that it couldn't be found.

"You get a little rough with the models, if you know what I mean," Duo continued, unaware that Trowa was just itching to do the job. "Last I heard from that brunette you were working with, you're pretty much unconcerned about the effects of your own methods. You almost disjointed her arm from her shoulder. You call that art. I call it scary."

Trowa crossed his arms and then looked at the adjacent window, unaffected by what Duo had just said. The sidewalk was littered with people despite the cold weather outside. There should have been at least one Arab in the throng of people passing by. That was Trowa's only concern.

"I already had a fireplace installed for her," Trowa answered, referring to the way he'd been treating the last model he worked with. "The ones you bring me tend to be difficult. I suspect you pick them specifically to make me suffer."

"Are you telling me that they're lying?" Duo asked with a laugh. His dessert was halfway done. "You're pretty much a sadist Tro. Who in the world would twist someone that painfully just to get the right details on a doll? You're insane buddy, but don't worry because I still love you all the same."

True, his methods were rather unusual but it was the way he created his finest masterpieces. He wasn't the most well-known doll maker in the area for nothing. Of course, it wasn't just his craftsmanship that was to be credited. Duo did have an eye for body symmetry. The man could pinpoint the best body shape of any living creature a mile away even if they were covered in heavy clothing. It was almost as if he undressed his subjects and determined their match for Trowa's projects with his eyes. The only downside to his gift was that Duo tended to pick the ones with the worst personalities.

"They're only nice when you're around," Trowa said, attempting to defend himself from the ridiculous claims. He could have been rough, but he was never rude. "Are you sure you haven't found me an Arabian male or are you protecting the poor, unsuspecting victim from me?"

"Eh," Duo answered, sounding unsure. "That's not it. I found you one, but you're not going to like him."

"Bad attitude?" Trowa inquired just to make sure. At least if he knew the flaw, he would able to get a head start on it.

"No. Not bad attitude. Bad match."

Trowa leaned forward on the table, unsure of what Duo had meant. His head of research always found him the best match and for him to be so unsure of something was unheard of.

"What do you mean bad match?" Trowa asked him.

"You saw the pictures in the book, right?"

"Yes."

Duo hesitated for a moment before wiping his hands on a napkin. He positioned his head on a lazy hand and then looked at Trowa, seeming to stall the inevitable.

"You see, this Arabian I found," he started.

"Yes?"

"He's really pale with blonde hair and a pair of impossibly huge blue-green eyes. Oh, and before I forget, he isn't as bulky as those men in the pictures. I know you're a guy who's always looking for '_the_' perfect match so you might not be too happy about it."

Trowa raised his eyebrow in question. Duo's description was a complete opposite of the characters depicted in the supposedly classic Arabian book he had just been viewing earlier. He couldn't have possibly been talking about the same thing.

"How did you know this guy was Arabian?" he asked, just to make sure Duo knew what he was talking about.

"I asked him."

"How did you find him?" Trowa asked more specifically. Perhaps he could determine the authenticity of the person based on the source.

"I was walking around in the street asking some random people if they were Arabian and this guy just happened to be close by so I asked him. He said yes."

It sounded so simple that Trowa wasn't going to fall for it that easily.

"Your methods have gotten sloppy," he reprimanded Duo. It wasn't like him to simply walk around, asking people about their background. Then again, it was how he accidentally came across some of Trowa's best models. 

"Before you pull that whole 'you should be more responsible' speech on me, I'll have you know that I had this whole area checked and there's only one registered Arabian male living around here. If you don't trust me, we could always ship one from Arabia or wherever it is they're abundant."

"I don't have that kind of money," Trowa said. It was frustrating. He never worked without a model and there was a very good reason for it. He couldn't. To him, working without something to touch was like working blind. 

He contemplated the dilemma. It was either he take his chances with the supposed Arabian male or give up the chance to work on the project he'd been waiting for. He wasn't really willing to give up so easily.

"I'll use him," Trowa said with finality. No matter what the flaw, his client was sure to love his work because he was the best. It wasn't likely that his client would have room to complain considering that he'd been given full control over the project. 

"I knew you would," Duo said and then leaned back with his arms crossed behind his head. He smiled and then winked at Trowa. "He'll be at your place at ten tomorrow morning."

Trowa nodded in satisfaction. Duo always came through for him.

===

It was another cold morning, the same way it had been for the past month. However, his place was a suitable sanctuary where the heat was comfortable and his materials were available. That was all he needed - a cozy atmosphere where he could delve into his masterpieces to his heart's content. All that was lacking was a subject.

He was not to be disappointed that day. Exactly as Duo promised, his model was at his door at ten o'clock sharp, not one minute late. In fact, the man had been accompanied by Duo and was undetectable save for the furry hood that was visible from Duo's back. 

Trowa wordlessly welcomed them inside but was nice enough to take their coats. 

"It was nice of you to start up the fire already," Duo greeted and went straight for the fireplace, forgetting that he'd yet to introduce his companion. The newcomer did not look like he minded although he did look uncomfortable standing motionless in a strange place.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Trowa started, trying to relieve the uneasiness building up in the room. Just because Duo felt comfortable didn't mean that everybody else in the room did.

"Ah! How rude of me," Duo exclaimed and immediately went back to the person he'd brought, cheerily announcing his name to Trowa.

"This is Quatre Winner, the only registered Arabian male around here. Quatre, this is Trowa, famous, almighty, high-priced doll maker."

"I prefer the term artist," Trowa interrupted.

Relaxing because of the friendlier atmosphere, Quatre sighed and Trowa was surprised to see the difference between the supposed authentic Arabian before him and the pictures in the supposed authentic book. He knew then that he would just have to compensate for the differences, but that was a concern he was going to deal with later.

Instead of asking any questions, Trowa eyed his newest model, scrutinizing each of the man's features as if ready to transfer him into molding within the next few minutes. This made Quatre uneasy, but Trowa didn't notice. It was only Duo's friendly yet violent shove that made him aware. That was when he realized that Quatre was staring meekly at the ground.

"Tro, you're scaring him already," Duo whispered to him. "Promise me you won't turn him into a bag of bones. I kind of like this guy."

"I already told you that I'm not as bad as you think I am," Trowa answered back defensively.

"You could at least say something welcoming."

In response to Duo's request, Trowa shoved Duo's coat on his arms and gently pushed him out the door. When he was sure Duo wouldn't return, he faced his newest subject and said a quick greeting. After he was sure that Quatre had been settled in, he lead him to his work area and pulled a stool from under the table.

"Take off you clothes and sit," he commanded. It never occurred to him that he was being rude.

Obviously appalled by the extraordinary request, Quatre stepped back and Trowa did not fail to notice.

"Umm, I don't think I signed up for something like this," Quatre said quickly. It was the first time Trowa heard him speak.

"You did," Trowa answered and looked at him indifferently. He wasn't exactly the most tactful person around, but he wasn't about to care much about it. He always got to the point. There was only one type of person he disliked and that was the type who didn't do what they were told.

"Why do I need to take my clothes off?"

"I need to touch you," Trowa answered, cracking his fingers to get ready to work. Quatre clearly did not understand what he said. He looked disgusted even. Trowa had to rephrase that.

"I mean," Trowa tried to explain again, exasperated. "I need to know the contours of your body to recreate it in clay. I'm making a sculpture of you and it wouldn't do if I didn't carve an underlying shape. I have no intention of doing any more." 

Why did it always have to be so difficult?

"No," Quatre said indignantly. 

Trowa turned sharp eyes toward him and caught his first true glimpse of his newest subject. He had scrutinized him earlier but only went so far as to notice the patch of skin that was visible from the man's collar. Trowa had traced a single vein running up his neck and disappearing into his jaw. He hadn't even really looked at his face until now. He was surprised. Quatre was a visage of beauty unlike he'd ever seen before. 

Beneath Quatre's long strands of hair was a face that even cherubs wouldn't dare compare with. His determined eyes were a picture of perfection against a complexion that was in dire need of the sun's rays. His mouth, accentuated by slightly pouting, slightly puckered lips was shaped to temp someone else's. Trowa could only imagine what the result of his project would be. Duo did know how to pick them well.

"You're probably going to do my face first so there's no need for me to take off anything. Besides, I'd get cold just sitting naked in that creaking stool."

Trowa nodded, never betraying the inner workings of his mind. In truth, he was excited, excited to mold and replicate such a visage of beauty. He had always had an earnest desire to bring life to mere clay and turn it into his next masterpiece. Quatre was going to be the subject of that masterpiece.

"Can I sit then?" Quatre asked, rubbing his arms. Trowa took this as a sign and added another log to the crackling fire.

"Of course," he answered, checking to see the condition of his fingers before he began. They were his greatest possessions after all. "We'll take a break when you feel like one. Just tell me when you want me to stop."

With that said, Trowa began meticulously feeling the curves of Quatre's head. Every bump that he would come across was no exception. When he was satisfied, he moved on to the undone clay, replicating the movement of his fingers against Quatre's head. It was a tedious process that he repeated over and over again, yet Quatre didn't seem distressed or bored. Trowa was surprised. Usually, they complained within five minutes of starting.

Making sure Quatre was indeed comfortable with it, Trowa observed him from the corner of his eyes. He noticed the way Quatre would in turn observe him as he molded the clay. They were watching each other and it was getting quite interesting.

"You like working with your hands," Quatre stated after several more minutes of silence. It was more of an observation than a question. Trowa did not make an effort to affirm nor deny his statement.

Strangely enough, Quatre did not speak again and neither did Trowa for the rest of their session. The two worked together in silence, even ate together in silence. At the end of the day, Quatre left without saying a word. He was a complete mystery. Trowa could only wonder how long his subject would last. Even Duo couldn't have probably guessed it.


	2. Part Two

**The Arabian Doll [Part Two]**

Being in the business for so long assured him that he'd seen it all... or at least he thought he did. The most common reaction was blushing followed by futile attempts to cover private body parts. Trowa would have expected those reactions foremost. In fact, he almost assumed that Quatre would react that way given the fact that he'd been so adamant about taking his clothes off the day before. 

"And why should it be necessary? You're just working on my torso today."

Trowa chose not to answer. A talkative _and_ defensive Quatre in response to half-nakedness was the last reaction he expected. Despite his need for uniformity in all his works, he allowed Quatre to evade his methods one more time. He could have explained that the pants were blocking the smooth movement of his hands as they came down his chest but chose not to explain. With the look of determination on his model's face, it was already obvious he wouldn't believe a word he said.

"You know what; I think you're a pervert. That's right. You heard me. I'm pretty sure there were a dozen other complaints before me."

His voice was getting unusually loud and Trowa had to wonder where the shy blonde from yesterday went. Quatre did not say a lot the day before and then all of a sudden, it was as if he'd found his dictionary. Words were flowing from his mouth like he didn't want to stop. Trowa wanted to tell him to keep still, but he knew that Quatre at least had that right. He had the right to act that way simply because it was a coping instinct, one that made it easier for him to endure the shame.

"I've had complaints about cruelty but never about perversion," Trowa answered, continuing to trace the outline of a rib. He felt Quatre hold his breath, another reaction to being uncomfortable with the situation. The poor thing was trying to act like it meant nothing to him.

"Cruelty, huh?" Quatre said aloud, seeming to evaluate the word. He was quiet for once as he looked at the floor. He might have been considering what Trowa said and looking for the source of previous complaints. 

Trowa was relieved. At least when his model was quiet, it was easier to do his work. The man wasn't moving too much. It was logical. When distracted, he wasn't thinking about the fact that he was naked and exposed in front of a stranger. 

"What exactly did you mean by cruel... Ah!"

Trowa looked up from his kneeling position on the ground.

"Ah! Will you cut that out? Are you trying to rip that bone off the rest of my body?"

Trowa stopped for a moment. At least Quatre finally figured out what they meant by the word cruelty. In truth, he was very much against the word. He was neither rude nor violent. He was simply devoted to his work and that involved doing his job as he saw fit. He needed to feel hard and sturdy bones, thick portions of malleable muscle, and flesh that screamed his touch. He wanted to feel the flow of blood as it passed through living veins, following it successfully as it traveled the breathing body. He was not a brute but a passionate artist.

"I apologize for hurting you," he said quickly. The formality in his voice did not give away his concern, but it was enough to convince Quatre that he was sincere. From the look on Quatre's face, it was obvious that he did not expect such a well-mannered response.

"It's... ok," Quatre answered hesitantly. "It didn't really h..."

Trowa considered how remarkable it was that he'd injured the man already. He smoothed his fingers tenderly over the slowly bruising portion of skin and didn't stop even when Quatre was at a loss for words. It was fascinating how sensitive the skin was. He knew the fragility with which aristocracy came. Trowa had no doubt that the person before him was a child of the wealthy. There was no reason for him to work for such trifle pay.

"Does it feel better?" Trowa asked without sounding concerned and looked up to check him. 

Quatre was looking down at him, blinking and flushing at the same time. His cheeks were smooth like porcelain and the pale pink coloring it looked like flecks of powder dusted meticulously over delicate skin. Trowa made a note to himself to remember the detail when he made the finishing touches.

"Better," Quatre murmured before looking at the lump of clay to his right. His unease was gone as quickly as it started. "Wait a minute," he voiced with newfound courage. "That clay over there looks undone. You've been groping me all morning. Shouldn't you at least have something ready by now?"

Trowa sat back on his heels. He supposed it was inevitable that the barely touched clay would be noticed. He didn't know how to explain it the right way. The models always assumed he was stalling with the job. None of them understood that there were necessary steps he had to take to ensure precision. He needed to feel the contours of their body repeatedly before transferring their form onto molding.

"I need to touch you further," he answered.

"I was right! You _are_ a pervert."

Trowa sighed. He always happened to pick the wrong words. It was a curse he couldn't quite rid himself of. It was times like these that he wished Duo's helpful tutoring on conversational skills worked. Being charismatic was not his forte and he had hordes of displeased models to prove it. 

Not one to speak what he really thought just because it was a waste of time, Trowa chose to take the easiest way out. He decided to turn the situation to his advantage and let Quatre do all the talking.

"I understand that you refuse to work with me any further so I'll try to find someone else to take your place."

Quatre was taken aback and Trowa almost smirked in triumph. His newest model looked the type to be easily swayed by guilt and he knew right then that he hit the spot. Quatre looked culpable and apologetic. He shook his head in an awkward and vigorous fashion.

"No. You don't have to go through all that trouble," he said right away, his face looking remorseful. "Your friend must have told you that I'm the only Arabian male around. You don't have to go through all the trouble. I was just a little uncomfortable. I didn't mean to accuse you of something that's unfitting. I'll try to be more cooperative."

Quatre understood reason and was accommodating. It meant that he was going to be easier to work with eventually. Trowa was thankful. He hadn't had anyone reasonable to work with in a long time.

"Then take off your pants," Trowa suggested.

"I'm reasonable but not gullible," Quatre responded, crossing his arms in annoyance. "If I remember correctly, it was the chest you were working on. This is as naked as I'm going to get, at least for today."

Trowa laughed a very satisfying one. Just when he'd gained some ground he realized that Quatre was something else. He was as headstrong as they came, but was packaged in a gloriously handsome and petite body that gave nothing away. He was a mystery Trowa wanted to unfold.

"Everything has got to come off sometime," Trowa whispered as he uncrossed Quatre's arms and continued on the rib he was examining earlier. This time, his fingers moved with additional care to make sure that he wasn't injuring him.

"You're cruel in more than one way," Quatre muttered under his breath but kept still while Trowa's fingers continued to roam his upper body.

"Thank you for pointing that out," Trowa responded. He was enjoying it more than he expected. It was commonplace to spend hours of silence with the models while he did his work. They would whine and he would continue with whatever it was he needed to do. It was easier that way. 

All he really cared for was the body, the shell from which his next masterpiece was to be created. It was rare that he would acknowledge them, much less indulge himself in conversation. However, this was surprisingly enjoyable and Quatre was remarkable not only in looks.

"What made you accept this job?" Trowa asked him. He was curious. The wealthy rarely needed to work for themselves unless necessary. Whatever work they did was preferably something that did not involve embarrassment to the same degree Quatre was experiencing at that moment. Perhaps it was the thrill that drove him.

"I needed the extra money."

Trowa looked up at him, his doubt obvious even when he didn't have an expression on his face.

"You don't believe me," Quatre stated tersely. "You want a more acceptable answer, something that would sound more logical."

Trowa responded with a weak nod, enough to get his agreement across.

"Your friend was disrupting the peace of the entire street corner," Quatre said, looking down at him. "From what I gather, Duo doesn't stop until Duo gets what he wants. Am I correct?"

This time, Trowa gave him a full nod.

"Besides," Quatre continued, looking away from him. "He said a friend needed his help, a very stern friend who was going to chop his head off if he didn't deliver. I couldn't very well let some poor, desperate stranger come back empty-handed."

"He might have been a very dangerous stranger," Trowa said as he slid his hand all the way down to Quatre's navel.

"I deal with a lot of many dangerous things myself," Quatre answered with a smirk. "...and if your hands go down any further, I'll snap those precious fingers of yours."

"Scary," Trowa said blandly, tracing the outline of his belly button. "But I'm not buying it."

"Then you should teach me how to sound tough and uncaring. Your very presence is intimidating although you are somewhat predictable."

"Am I?" Trowa asked him before removing his fingers from its current position. He grabbed another stool from under his desk and sat across from Quatre. "What do you suppose am I going to do now?"

Quatre tilted his head to the side, looking like he was trying to scrutinize Trowa's expression. Only, there was not a hint of anything on his face that would give away what he was thinking. 

"You won't hurt me, not again at least," Quatre said.

Nonplussed by the correct answer, Trowa reasoned to himself that Quatre had just happened to make a lucky guess. Then again, the statement was too similar to his train of thought that it made him wary of his companion. It was almost frightening the way he was dissected to a degree to which no one could.

"Don't be surprised," Quatre said while looking fixedly at him. For the very first time, Trowa felt conscious of himself. He knew that he was completely bared in front of the man. He was fully clothed but felt naked. He felt exposed. It caused him to feel for the models whose diffident attitude he dismissed as being demanding many times before. 

Refusing to let his apprehension show, Trowa looked away and picked up the unformed clay to serve as a diversion.

"Like I said earlier," Quatre continued. "I'm not as gullible as I look."

Trowa nodded and then looked back at him. There was still work to be done. Putting the clay back into its original position, he turned on an overhead lamp and positioned it between the two of them. He picked up Quatre's hand and proceeded to examine it under the light. With the right amount of illumination hitting just the right angle, Trowa could see traces of thin, almost invisible veins on Quatre's delicate hand. 

"We're the same, you know," Quatre said, breaking the silence. "I like working with my hands as well."

"I can't tell from the suppleness of your skin," Trowa responded truthfully. "You probably dip your hands in milk every night."

"Is that what you do?" 

The curious response he received caught him off guard. Trowa paused momentarily before continuing with his examination of the hand in front of him. It was subtle, but it was an obvious enough indicator of the accuracy of Quatre's assumption. Trowa was not embarrassed about it, but he didn't feel the need to divulge his rather strange rituals to his new acquaintance.

"Just so you know, I've never soaked my hands in anything," Quatre said, changing the direction of the inquiry. He seemed to have understood Trowa's unspoken refusal to answer. "You'd be surprised at what kind of work I do," he added.

Trowa looked up again to acknowledge him. With the proper illumination from the bright lamp above them, Trowa noticed the precise curves of Quatre's face. It was rotund without being too chubby, angular in certain areas without making him look too mature. Trowa had yet to see anyone with such exceptional features. He began to doubt his decision to use him as a model for his latest creation. He looked nothing like the exotic Arabs illustrated in the books.

"Why mold something when you're simply making a doll?" Quatre asked him. It gave Trowa the impression that his model was finding the set-up peculiar. "It feels like you're creating a sculpture rather than a doll."

"I'm making a sculpture, but in this day and age, the word doll sounds less antiquated. It sounds more comfortable, don't you agree?"

"It sounds inaccurate."

Trowa chuckled. The daring response from his companion amused him.

"In any case, I do make dolls. This is the first sculpture I'd had to do in years. My client was very flexible. As a result of that, I was able to request that the particulars of the project be left to my discretion."  


"I don't see why you can't continue making sculptures," Quatre said with a frown. "You seem to like shaping figures with your hands. Not all dolls involve the same amount of careful contact unless you're using a harder form of material."

It was insightful and it was exactly how he felt about the subject matter. Trowa raised an eyebrow. It was strange to have found someone who understood his woes.

"Ah, but more commissions mean more money. The new wealthy prefer soft, cozy dolls rather than monumental figures that bring no physical comfort. I simply do what the times demand. Survival is more important than self-gratification."

"Well said!"

Trowa turned his head to the source of the distraction to find Duo clapping his hands as if in mock admiration. He glowered at his friend for both the interruption and the sudden appearance. He knew Duo would drop by eventually, but he didn't expect to find him already settled in. It was annoying how he picked the locks on his doors and entered without warning. Permission to enter was not necessary, but the least he could have done was let his presence be known immediately after entering.

"Make sure the door is shut completely. I don't want him getting cold."

Although the interruption did not annoy him, it did manage to disappoint him. The conversation he was having with Quatre was only starting to get interesting before it was cut short. He sighed in resignation and then checked on his model. Quatre was trying in vain to cover himself up.

"Duo, get him a jacket," he commanded. "What did I say about getting them cold?"

Trowa knew Quatre was more embarrassed than cold but didn't want to humiliate him further by exposing him in front of another stranger. He wanted to make sure that Quatre did not lose his sudden burst of confidence just when he'd managed to distract him. If people thought that his skill was simply in the area of sculpting, they were wrong. Unknown to many, he was also a master of manipulation.

"This should do," Duo said sheepishly as he placed a coat two sizes too big over Quatre. As he was doing so, Trowa gave him a look of reprimand for his immediate arrival. 

"Uh, I'm surprised Tro here didn't tell you that I have to come in and check at least once a day. It's in the contract," Duo added.

Knowing very well what Duo meant and where he was getting at, Trowa rolled his eyes. It was just like his long-time friend to believe stories of anguish and treachery about him. His overzealous models tended to be on the dramatic side. Duo was supposed to check on him to make sure that he didn't do the things he was accused of doing. More importantly, he had to make sure that no lawsuits came out of the disgruntled models' claims.

"I know of that little detail in the contract," Quatre responded in a soft voice. Trowa was disappointed to find that Quatre had seemed to draw back into himself. "I was just surprised to see you there so suddenly."

No further reprimands were necessary. Trowa was going to make sure that Duo heard about it later. His efforts to alleviate Quatre's anxiety may have been lacking, but his efforts were not in vain. He'd gained some ground but hoped it was enough to ease Quatre and convince him that he could be trusted. Half the job often involved gaining the trust of the people he worked with.

"I think now would be a good time to wrap up," Trowa announced. "We should resume tomorrow at around the same time we started today. Will that be alright with you?"

Quatre merely nodded before gathering his clothes and going to the bathroom to change. Trowa took that chance to talk to Duo, but before he could even start, Duo already had his hands up in the air.

"He looked fine to me," Duo said immediately in defense. "He looked comfortable around you so I didn't think it was a problem for me to come in and check."

"Just because he's comfortable with me does not mean he'll feel as safe around you," Trowa answered as he started to put away his materials. He was not really angry, only a little annoyed. He knew Duo would sense that already.

"...and I thought I was the friendly one," Duo teased while making himself useful. He proceeded to help Trowa organize his workspace. "Seriously though, I thought the shy attitude was a front."

"It _is_ a front."

"Ah, so I should assume that this is step one - make him comfortable enough to take everything off."

Before Trowa could voice out his retort, Quatre emerged from the bathroom already dressed and ready to go. He continued to remain silent while returning the previously offered coat to Trowa.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Trowa said as he led him out the door. "I hope that the arrangement I set will be acceptable with you," he added to sound like a gracious host.

"Yes. I'll see you... both tomorrow."

Trowa nodded. Not long after, Quatre was already at a distance. His form was unnoticeable in the thick snow save for the distinctive brown coat covering him. When he completely disappeared from sight, Trowa closed the door and went back to his workspace. There, he contemplated about his newest model.

Quatre evolved from childish to profound in the span of a few hours. It was an amazing transformation and Trowa had his speculations that the emerging form was that of the true Quatre, the Quatre who didn't need to deal with humiliation. He was getting used to their arrangement faster than he expected. 

With a content smile on his face, Trowa finished cleaning up his workspace for the following day's session. He was looking forward to another gratifying conversation with the man who managed to fascinate him.

"I picked the right one," Duo interrupted his thoughts, but he didn't mind. His friend was grinning like he knew all the secrets of the universe.

"You always do pick the right ones, Duo. You always do."


	3. Part Three

**The Arabian Doll [Part Three]**

He had been staring at his cup of coffee for the most part of the morning, contemplating his next move. His model had yet to make his entrance through the door and the only company he had was a little less than agreeable at the moment. Once Duo had entered his apartment, he had decided to talk nonstop about his mundane day around town. If not for Trowa's lack of anything to do, he would have already kicked the man out the door. As it was, the same talkative friend needed to be there for that day's session. Trowa was not against it, but he did not welcome it either. It was bad enough that Duo's presence made his model go stock still.

"But I managed to drop by and ask him if he had any specific requests. He said no so I decided to come by and check up on how you were doing with the guy. Hey! Are you even listening?"

Trowa nodded although it was obvious that his mind was somewhere else. He did hear the words coming out of Duo's mouth, but he understood none of it. Still, he was not ashamed of such an act because Duo had known him long enough to appreciate that he had even been acknowledged. He was smart enough to understand Trowa's idiosyncrasies when it came to words. He never spoke very many but appreciated it all the same because the sounds were pleasing to his ears.

"Should I go on?"

"Go ahead," Trowa replied before picking up his cup of coffee. Duo was smirking at him, the knowing look declaring that he knew Trowa wanted to hear him speak. It wasn't so much as understanding the spoken words as it was the rhythm of his voice as it droned on and on about nothing in particular. Trowa appreciated it up to a certain degree. Over the years he had started to consider it as music, one like no other. It was the form of music only Duo could achieve.

"So I was thinking about this new guy. You think he's going to be able to open up a bit more with me hovering around you guys?"

"I don't think so, but it can't be helped. You have to be here as part of the contract," Trowa answered, finally sipping on the cup of coffee that had been cooling for the past few minutes. "Just make sure you make yourself unnoticeable when he gets here," Trowa warned. "Make no friendly conversations of any sort."

"Aww Tro," Duo whined. "You're going turn me into a grump like yourself."

"I think that being around you for years has proven that I can't exactly soak up your exuberant attitude. You haven't picked up my 'grump' either as you call it."

"Ouch! You're extra nasty today," Duo commented, picking up the muffin before him and chewing on it. "Does it have something to do with your new doll having a difficult personality?"

"He's not difficult Duo, just extremely complex."

"Ah, complex. I love how you choose your words. It sounds so appropriate without giving away what you really think. But, knowing you for so long, I'm sure I could come up with a decent explanation for your answer."

"It isn't necessary," Trowa managed to answer before they heard a soft and very controlled knock on the door. "It must be him," Trowa concluded, getting up to greet his model for that day's session. "Duo, I would advise you to stay quiet and try not to get in the way."

Duo made a motion with his hands as if pulling the zipper to his mouth so that it would keep shut for the rest of the day. Trowa knew it wouldn't last long, but nevertheless gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Good morning," Trowa greeted when he opened the front door, noting that Quatre was once again nervous. There were just some things he had to get used to. If cowering at the sight of him was his first greeting, Trowa mused that the rest of their session would not go well.

"Good morning," Quatre answered as he was lead inside the apartment. The entity Quatre seemed to notice first was the person seated by the small breakfast table to the side. His response was to stiffen.

"Don't mind him," Trowa reassured the newcomer. "You won't even know he's there."

Duo waved at Quatre but continued to stay quiet, choosing to continue with his breakfast and pay them no heed. This at least caused some sort of relief on Quatre's part. Trowa noticed his shoulders ease a little as he shrugged off his coat.

"Are we going to continue where we left off?" Quatre started, taking a seat in the stool that was already left out for him. Even when he was not used to the job, Quatre was already used to their surroundings. Trowa had hoped he was used to him by now.

"No. Today, we're doing the legs," Trowa answered and simply looked at him. It meant only one word and Trowa deigned it necessary not to say it out loud while Duo was around. It would only embarrass Quatre further. After all, the one command 'strip' brought mountains of scandalous connotations when Duo wanted to make something of it.

Quatre hesitated for a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and setting it aside. He then proceeded to take off his shoes and socks before he turned completely red. Trowa was taken aback. It was only a day before when Quatre had chosen to talk incessantly as a response to nakedness. Now, all of a sudden, in the presence of a third party, Quatre had taken to blushing. It was certainly not him, Trowa decided. He had seen the real Quatre the day before and the person before him was definitely not one and the same. Duo's presence had without doubt shifted the air around them.

Trowa sulked inwardly. He hoped that he would have another gratifying conversation with Quatre, but it looked to be no longer possible with Duo watching over them a few feet away. He supposed Quatre's discomfort around him was demonstrated in a different way. 

"I said the legs," Trowa elaborated when he noticed that Quatre was not going to attempt to get out of his pants.

Quatre blinked at him, unwilling to voice out his protest but still remained headstrong as his hand unconsciously flew to his belt as if to make sure that it would be kept in its place.

"We're never going to finish this way," Trowa said. "It's going to have to come off today."

Trowa watched as Quatre hesitated once again. Still not saying a word, the man reluctantly pulled out his belt and ever so slowly slid out of his pants. It was Trowa's turn to blink. True, he had seen hundreds of undressed bodies before, but one look at Quatre's not completely naked form and he was held in a trance.

He asked himself what was so different about this one. Why had Quatre held his interest when he had seen so many others who certainly held the same beauty as he did? Surely there was something about the small frame, the almost unnoticeable bone jutting out of his slim hips that called out for his attention. Perhaps it was nothing more than the distinctive navel he'd noticed the day before that had him examining Quatre as if a prostate frog on a dissecting table.

"Thank you," he managed to say despite the dryness in his throat. He swallowed once before looking at Quatre's form once again. He was delighted, so much that he could almost hear the lump of clay screaming at him to recreate the masterpiece before him. There was always some sort of unique quality that made each human body perfect despite conceived flaws. This, however, he could find no explanation for.

"Boxers," he said, once he'd found his voice again.

"Yes, boxers," Quatre answered, not understanding what Trowa had meant by it.

"They have to go," Trowa said simply.

"No!"

It was the first genuine reaction from Quatre ever since he'd entered the door.

"Briefs would have been more conducive," Trowa said, offering an explanation of why he wanted them off. It wasn't as if he had any malicious intentions of any sort. He knew that he couldn't very well slip his hand into Quatre's underwear without looking perverse.

"...or better yet, thongs!" Duo helpfully interjected from the corner he'd chosen to position himself.

Quatre turned to look at Duo and then whipped his head back to Trowa with a scandalous expression on his face. Duo really wasn't helping get Quatre through his fear of being exposed.

"I thought you promised to stay quiet," Trowa gritted through clenched teeth. He stared at Duo if only to hide from Quatre's equally penetrating stare.

"Eep!" Duo said, deciding to help himself and raid Trowa's refrigerator. That left Trowa alone with a very intimidating Quatre.

"Look, you could pull it up instead. The material does impede the movement of my hands but I'll manage."

"Can you really?" Quatre asked while eyeing him.

"No," Trowa answered. Nothing was easier than the simple truth.

"Look, I can't really do this right now," Quatre explained. "I'm not trying to be difficult. It's just that I... can't."

"Good," Trowa said. "Now let's start being honest with each other. Does Duo's presence bother you?"

"Yes."

"Does finally saying that make you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Hey, I hear evil things being said about me!" Duo shouted from the kitchen.

"He's Duo," Trowa explained. "You could tell him you hate his guts and he won't hate you for it. You could tell him to shove it and all he'll do is give you a toothy smile."

"I'm not scared of him," Quatre defended. "It's just uncomfortable when you're not the only one around. I've come to picture this relationship as one between two people held together by trust."

Trowa raised an elegant brow, retrieving a few materials from the drawer next to him.

"I find your take on this temporary relationship very critical."

"I'm surprised," Quatre answered, mildly irritated. "We're you not the one who said that your work is your passion. Am I simply the next piece of stone you're carving?"

"Of course," Trowa said truthfully, pulling the cloth over the lump of clay he had started molding the day before. There was certainly nothing wrong with being completely honest. Quatre deserved the honesty if only to inform him that such a relationship he envisioned was a mere illusion. It was a grandeur not wholly meant to be expected. After all, he was a professional and as the contractor who had acquiesced to the agreement, Quatre was too.

"I should have figured as much," Quatre said, a frown marring his perfect features. His plump lips had taken to pouting and his rounded cheeks puffed slightly in response. "The way you were heedlessly digging into my ribs yesterday should have been an indication that you didn't care what happened to the recipients of your actions. You merely care about the ultimate results, not necessarily of the person but of the masterpiece."

"Ouch!" Duo mock-hissed from the kitchen not too far away. Trowa was sure that he was enjoying their argument. 

More than once had Trowa faced such accusations. He could almost go along with Quatre's words. It was like a rehearsed speech he had heard many times before simply because it happened often enough. He knew the claims were legitimate, but he also knew that he was still in line. It was how he worked and he hated it when his ethics were questioned by those who knew nothing about him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were an expert on me," Trowa said, the bit of sarcasm very uncommon when it came to him. He had been trained to never take the bait. In fact, Duo had dubbed him the master of the brick wall method for being able to take a hit without outwardly showing that it affected him in any way.

Then again, there were always exceptions and Quatre was different from any others he had dealt with before. It was not long ago that the man before him had so easily dissected his persona. It was but a day ago when Quatre managed to unnerve him with his accurate observations. Trowa thought that perhaps that was the reason why he was rising to the bait. It was possible that he wanted Quatre to see him for who he was. He was not just insulted by Quatre's words, he was excited as well.

Quatre, on the other hand, had taken to sulking. His frown since then had deepened and his arms were crossed across his chest, serving as an indication of his condemnation of Trowa's response and not as an indication of shame. The pose gave Trowa the chance to notice the hint of muscle that was exposed on Quatre's biceps, the shape of it defined without being sharp enough to trace. His arms, like the rest of his body, were subtly depicted in a soft, almost ethereal outline. Simply said, Trowa had never seen anything like it before.

"You're too pretty for Trowa to stay mad at," Duo interrupted his observations, very aware of what was going through his mind. If there ever was an expert on him, it had to be Duo.

"What?" Quatre asked, irritated.

Trowa did not protest Duo's statement, allowing him to continue. After all, Duo said the truth and the truth was of no shame to him. He appreciated beauty to a degree above common man and it was acceptable that Duo reveal just that.

"He started forgetting you insulted him five minutes ago. In fact, I can proudly guess that he started running his mental hands through you the moment you crossed your arms."

Still, Duo was a little too specific, causing Quatre to stiffen and then turn on his seat so that he was completely with his back to them. Perhaps they both lacked tact. 

"Then you call tell him to keep his mental hands to himself," Quatre said. His back was turning red, probably a shade paler than his face was turning into. 

Trowa, for one reason or another, was enjoying the exchange immensely. Being deprived of viewing Quatre's arm, he was instead given a full view of the man's back. Like a hungry beast to its prey, Trowa savored the lines on Quatre's spine. His back, Trowa was sure, was that of a trained aristocrat. His spine was set straight with his shoulders held back so that his posture was elegant and sophisticated. The subtle ridge that halved his exposed back looked like a valley of flesh, defining the connection between his back and neck.

"Stop ogling him Tro," Duo interrupted his inspection of Quatre's back. "I think he's just about ready to blow."

"What are you, the pervert of the art world?" Quatre said, turning to face them not one minute after Duo had warned him. He held Quatre's angry gaze but said nothing.

"Sorry Quat, this guy's libido died a long time ago. I'm afraid he only eats, sleeps, and sculpts."

"Duo," Quatre turned to face him. "Will you please shut it? I'm sure Trowa can speak for himself."

When Duo stepped back with wide eyes, Quatre seemed satisfied enough to continue. "I was referring to his inability to curtail his desires so that his object of desire is not an inanimate object, but a living, breathing person for once. I can't help but conclude that he has absolutely no respect for human beings for who they are but for the purposes they serve instead. That is not how people are supposed to survive."

"You're deep..." Duo murmured, turning from Quatre and looking warningly at Trowa. 

At least, Trowa thought, Duo understood what he meant when he had mentioned that Quatre was a very complex person. Despite possessing the magnificence of a flawless being, Quatre disregarded any notions of vanity in favor of the human qualities he'd long since abjured. Perchance working with exceptional beauties, who just knew they were flawless, had disillusioned him. Vanity was not the only quality humans possessed.

"Are you suggesting that I befriend you for the weeks we will be working together and then relinquish the established relationship once our objectives have been met?" Trowa questioned for the first time since his sarcastic comeback. Already, he had proved himself to be a man of few words.

"You didn't understand a word I said," Quatre replied, retrieving his shirt so that he was now half-covered. "I can't work with someone who sees me as nothing but a doll."

"Shall I assume that you will be running back to your wealthy parents because this job opportunity did not work out?"

Quatre did not look surprised by his statement and instead retrieved his pants. Fastening his belt and arranging his clothes, Quatre faced him one more time. 

"That was very mature of you Trowa," he said, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. "I did not expect you to be the bearer of such foolish assumptions. I am more than your next project and certainly far more than my affluent origins."

Excusing himself from Duo, Quatre exited through the front door not to return again that day. Predictably enough, Trowa's fingers curled and twitched. It was a reaction to his disappointment for not being able to touch Quatre once since their session started. It was near devastating that his beloved hands had been depraved the luxury of touch. Realizing that Quatre may not return, he tensed. His whole arm shook with panic, the immensity of the situation only then taking a hold of him.

"Tro, calm down," Duo called to him, taking a firm hold of both his arms so that they stopped shaking. "This obsession of yours is going to kill you one day."

"It's not an obsession. It's work," Trowa responded, closing his hands into fists so that he could control himself better. 

"Uh huh, that's what you've been telling me and yourself for the past few years. It's about time someone like him grounded you to reality. I couldn't have done any better."

"Grounded me to reality?" Trowa asked him slowly, as if he did not know that he was not already grounded to begin with.

"Sit down Tro," Duo said, assisting him. "I'm going to ask you a loaded question and you're going to need to sit down for this."

Trowa, finding himself confused and still a bit shaky from shock, did as he was told. 

"Has every model you come across come out as just another masterpiece?" Duo asked him and Trowa had to raise an eyebrow at the question.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just me trying to sound profound I guess," Duo answered nonchalantly without looking at him.

Trowa paused for a moment to examine his long time friend. Duo, despite his upbeat and almost outrageous character, was a very profound person when given the chance. It was the heedless, casual statements once in a while that stood out and those were the ones Trowa always looked out for.

"Being profound doesn't suit you," he said honestly.

Trowa let the statement roll in his tongue as if to examine how well it went with his mouth. Duo simply shrugged and smiled at him.

"I guess a masterpiece only lasts as long as its master wills it to last."

With that statement, Duo left him alone to think.


	4. Part Four

**The Arabian Doll [Part Four]**

It had been a relatively restless morning when Duo showed up at Trowa's front door. Having no means by which to release his pent up energy, Trowa had taken to cleaning his entire apartment. Restlessness sometimes did do wonders for the anxious who could find nothing to do to occupy themselves with.

"He's coming," Duo said upon entering the nearly immaculate abode of his long time friend. He could not help but squint as he was assaulted by the orderly surroundings. Trowa was never untidy but neither was he organized.

"He's not," Trowa answered in kind, finding himself enthralled with arranging overused art materials and depositing them in their proper place. He'd almost forgotten that he preferred leaving things where he last used them to prevent confusion afterwards, but distraction was the key to stop thinking about the previous day's events.

"He's not backing down," Duo reiterated, making himself comfortable on the couch which was currently the only piece of furniture that had not been cleaned, sanitized, or otherwise noticed.

"Are you suggesting that he's challenging me?" Trowa said although the way he voiced his question made it seem like he was not interested, only verbalizing an appropriate response.

"As accurate as the guy was in pointing out your flaws yesterday, I doubt he'll leave you without a model to work with. He's a nice guy. Might I even suggest that he'll endure your impossibility?"

Trowa threw a thoroughly used paper towel into the trash bin, not deigning to make a response. It was true that Quatre was the type of person who seemed accommodating to the point where he would most likely endure Trowa's selfish tendencies for the sake of helping him. Still, his model had seemed more than insulted the day before.

"Either people get used to you or they leave you alone," Duo mused loudly, causing Trowa to turn and look at him for clarification.

Before Duo had the chance to answer, he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, carefully positioning himself so that he was facing the other. Having few acquaintances was a disadvantage sometimes. It left little room for feedback. That was why he valued Duo's the most.

"You're impossible, Tro," Duo said a bit too cheerily, placing his feet on top of a nearby coffee table recently wiped spotless. "Only the insane or perpetually tolerant will be able to muster your way of thinking. If he doesn't show up today then you might as well forget ever touching that body again. But, if he comes in through that front door then I'm sure nothing you'll ever say or do will drive him away. Like I already said, either they can handle you or they can't."

"I'm not as difficult as you make me sound," Trowa protested, choosing to shove Duo's feet off the coffee table. He knew there was some truth to it, but there was still something disturbing about hearing it from someone else's mouth. "And like I already said once before, he's not coming back."

Feeling disappointed that he'd lost his favorite model far too quickly; Trowa stared out his window, the scene of blanketed snow greeting his eyes that hungered for only one thing. Surely that hunger would not be sated now that his object of veneration had been pushed away by the same hands that yearned to recreate it into the masterpiece it so deserved to become.

"Remember Tro, you're not the good judge of character here. I am," Duo said, again raising his feet up so they were comfortably positioned on their previous perch.

Just as Trowa was about to respond, a soft but well-controlled knock came from the door. Duo's response was to smirk at him rather than move to open the door.

"What did I say?" he said.

Trowa ignored Duo for the time being in favor of his newest guest. He could not deny that he was curious as to who exactly was at his door. If it were Quatre, as Duo had suggested, then he would forever be awed by his friend's ability to read people.

Unlocking the hinges, he held on to the door knob tentatively before finally pulling it open.

"Good morning," greeted their newest guest who looked calm but decidedly serious.

"What'd I tell you?" Duo said smugly from the other end of the room. "Didn't I tell you he'd come?"

Trowa nodded in greeting, moving out of the way so that Quatre could come in. Knowing that it was unnecessary to feed Duo's current rise in ego, he chose not to answer. Instead, he proceeded to his work area where he knew Quatre would soon follow. He looked as if he'd never been worried that the other would show up, but deep in the recesses of his mind was a whoop of pure jubilation. He had hoped that he hadn't driven the other away the day before.

"Duo," Quatre greeted and proceeded to approach him, ignoring Trowa's lead. "I want you out of here," he said, startling both of the occupants of the room.

"Eh?" Duo said, taken by surprise. He was always good-natured, but being shooed so suddenly did manage to make him frown. "I know you'd be more comfortable without me around, but it's part of the deal. I can't leave you alone with Tro. It's nothing personal, mind you."

"Now you can," Quatre answered, handing Duo a piece of paper. Whatever it was, Trowa had no idea. All he could decipher from the exchange was that Quatre somehow managed to find a loophole in the contract. He was as clever as he was attractive.

Trowa watched as Duo reached for the paper, read through it, scratched his head once, and then shrugged.

"I guess you're on your own Tro," he said, standing up from his already comfortable perch to retrieve his coat. "Make sure you don't hurt him," he warned before settling a smirk Quatre's way. "Or maybe it's you I should warn my buddy about," he added.

"I assure you, no harm will come to him," Quatre answered and although the formality of his voice could slice the air in half, the sincerity on his face said otherwise. "I'm really sorry for the inconvenience," he added, the pleasant sound of his voice too charming to resist.

"Aww," Duo said, opening Trowa's front door and setting foot outside. "If you give me that sweetie-pie look then there's no reason for me not to trust you." With one more grin, Duo waved a quick goodbye to Trowa before disappearing into the snow-covered streets outside.

Piecing together what had just happened within the span of a few minutes, Trowa eyed his Arabian model, unsure of what to expect next. He chose not to say anything in favor of simply observing what the other would do next.

Sure enough, Quatre did not disappoint him as he approached Trowa, sitting down on the same rickety stool he had occupied several times before. The only difference was that he was still fully dressed.

"We need a compromise," Quatre started, staring at Trowa who was in mid-crouch, retrieving materials from a bottom drawer.

Trowa nodded, still not willing to speak. He supposed that it was inevitable, considering that their inability to work through Trowa's directness and Quatre's unwillingness to expose himself was halting their ultimate goal. If it continued any further, they would never finish.

"I need you to work blind," Quatre said, looking at Trowa with eyes hard as steel as if daring him to say otherwise. "There is no other way I'm working with you," he continued without taking his eyes off him.

"My eyes are as important as my hands," Trowa responded, staring right back at Quatre with an equally unwavering stare. It was unheard of that anyone working with him would make any demands. It was always him who made the decisions, always him who decided how his masterpieces should be done.

"Then I suggest you start learning how to rely solely on your hands," Quatre said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket. "Your hands are what are most precious to you after all," he added.

"My eyes refuse to be deprived of viewing your body's structure. I have to see every vein, every muscle structure or I can't work at all."

"Your eyes merely guide your hands," Quatre answered. "It's your mind's interpretation of what you see that seeks gratification."

Trowa shook his head, unable to come up with a verbal response to Quatre's observation. However, something at the back of his mind was convinced that it was true. It reiterated that what he really wanted was to feast his eyes on the most magnificent human form he'd ever seen.

Quatre sighed, the determined look on his face leaving his features for the time being. "You do realize that I'm taking everything off?" he said, massaging his forehead with his thumb and index finger. "That in itself is hard enough already."

Trowa stood up so that he was now hovering just above Quatre's head. Perhaps he was being inconsiderate and Quatre's suggestion did sound like a reasonable compromise. It was possible that he work with just his hands because his fingertips alone could successfully fill in what his eyes could not see.

"Fine," Trowa said, not waiting for any further prompting and taking the handkerchief held in Quatre's hand. He secured the cloth around his head so that his eyes were shielded from all sight. When he was done, nothing could be deciphered through the barrier. Even with his hair already obscuring his vision most of the time, Trowa still felt awkward with the situation he found himself in. At least without the blindfold, he'd still been able to view through the curtains of his hair.

"Thank you," was all Quatre said. Trowa did not see the other's expression, but somehow, he felt the smile of gratitude through the covering.

Trowa waited patiently and stood with arms crossed, waiting for Quatre to finish undressing. It was only the sounds of cloth rustling that signaled him to the fact that Quatre was indeed doing as he'd promised. When the sounds of movement ceased, unexplained warmth radiated from before him. Trowa could only assume that Quatre was close by.

"It won't be so bad," Quatre said, although it was not obvious if he was trying to reassure Trowa or himself.

A few more minutes of silence passed before Trowa felt his hand being guided by another's. Moments later, he felt his hand being pressed against a very warm, very solid form. He stiffened. It was all he could do not to recoil in sudden alarm. Until then, he had never imagined what it would feel like to touch a body without first seeing it. Information was usually passed from his eyes to his brain before his hand even reached out to touch what he already knew he would feel. It was strange to experience something so foreign.

"I don't see why you should be scared of me all of a sudden," Quatre said, picking up Trowa's other hand and then guiding it to his body so that both nearly shaking palms were positioned against his bare chest.

"It's an entirely different sensation," Trowa admitted, closing eyes that were already shielded. He moved his fingers experimentally, calculating where both hands were located within the warm body. He slid his hand down Quatre's side, before the other hand joined in its exploration.

"If you can't figure out where your hands are, just ask and I'll tell you," Quatre said, his voice drifting toward Trowa's ears. However, the sounds were incomprehensible as Trowa favored lavishing attention on a newly discovered sensation of blind fingertips against burning skin.

Unable to comprehend his hand's sudden excitement, Trowa allowed both to wander. Like pairs of serpents let loose on their prey, Trowa's hands sought defenseless muscles and still bones without mercy. The first structure they'd come into contact with was a slender neck that was tilted painfully back.

"Trowa," he heard Quatre say, but the rest of the statement was suppressed as Trowa continued his investigation.

Thumbs brushed against an Adam's apple that was protesting the sudden assault. He could feel it move as it tried to escape invading touches. His thumbs stubbornly followed it, relentless as they stroked over flesh which he knew would be bruised by such a brutal assault. The rest of his fingers were positioned against the back of that same, taut neck to prevent further escape.

"Trowa, it hurts," Quatre whimpered. Trowa could feel the wince as muscles moved to do just that. "You're choking me," was added a few moments later, but Trowa's hands refused to let go.

It was finally a pair of cold hands latching on to his own forceful wrists that jolted him out of the uncontrolled disturbance in his mind. Quatre's hands had joined in the effort to detach the tight hold, struggling valiantly to free its captive neck.

Suddenly woken from his frenzied assault, Trowa dropped his hands to his side, surprised that he had not realized what he was doing. It was on such rare occasions that he was not able to control himself. The sudden spark of madness had taken over his hands and his mind without his knowledge.

"I'm... sorry," Trowa said slowly, fingers curling and straightening as if they were ready to touch once again. He must have looked frightening. He was sure of it.

"It's fine," Quatre answered, voice raspy from the earlier onslaught of eager hands. "But if you keep this up, I'm going to look like a beaten tomato by the time this session ends."

Trowa reached out blindly to the spot where he suspected the injury would be. He first came into contact with Quatre's hands which were busy stroking the aching neck. Trowa pushed the hands away gently to massage an abused neck that was harmed by the same hands only moments before.

"This hasn't happened in so long," Trowa said, allowing his hands to do the soothing his expressionless voice could not. The admission, he knew, was selectively vague. It revealed a secret and caused a reason for questioning all while sending a warning of how uncontrolled he could get. "You must realize now why Duo is needed."

"It's happened before?" Quatre voiced with concern. It was obvious from the sound of his voice that the concern was for Trowa and not himself who would most likely be at the mercy of frenzied hands. "I doubt that you mean any harm."

"I don't," Trowa said, stopping his hand's motion in favor of resting them atop narrow shoulders. "Not very many would believe so." He wished he could see Quatre's face and witness the probable look of fear he had caused. Facial expressions always did well to remind him that he should never loose control again.

His lips quirked downward the slightest bit when he felt hands attach themselves to either side of his face, pulling him down so that he was at Quatre's eye level. His blindfold was nudged down the tiniest fraction with thumbs that felt softer than even his own. The semi-freedom given allowed him to stare directly at eyes he suspected would look frightened.

"I already said it before. I know you won't hurt me," Quatre said.

Instead of the fear he knew was going to be present, Trowa saw a look of concern with a tinge of amusement as if Quatre were confident in the belief that his statement was wholly accurate. Bright eyes then lead a path downward to bow-shaped lips that graced him with a smile. The ensemble was completed with a full view of the child-like visage.

"You trust people far too much," Trowa answered, remembering that Quatre had, without question, submitted to Duo's request not too long ago. It was a blessing since Quatre had been the only available Arabian male within the area and as such is instrumental in completing his project. Still, it bothered him that such a sweet-looking person could so easily trust a stranger.

Trowa's frown deepened as his eyes traveled down toward the neck he'd hurt during his moment of madness. He did not dare look further down as the hand that still held on to either side of his face had skillfully restrained any more movement.

"I know what I'm doing," Quatre said, but his expression was lost to Trowa who was still staring at the quickly bruising flesh just below Quatre's head.

Once again, Trowa ran idle thumbs carefully through now visible skin that looked even paler with the addition of his fingerprints. Quatre's statement was left without a response.

"You must be cold," Trowa said all of a sudden, turning away from Quatre so that he could add a few logs to the quickly diminishing flame in the fireplace. He did not dare glance back at the bare expanse of Quatre's body because he did not wish to violate their earlier agreement.

After deciding that enough logs were fed to the burning flames, Trowa secured his blindfold back in place before turning to face the general direction where Quatre was located.

"I can understand if you don't wish to continue," he said. It was Quatre's choice whether they'd accomplish anything that day or not since he'd already done enough to ruin their session.

"I don't think you can continue even if I don't mind," Quatre answered.

Trowa reached for another stool he knew was within the vicinity and sat down. Surely he'd know better than anyone else if he were up for something or not.

"Why do you say that?" Trowa asked, curiosity seeping through his usual monotone.

"You're too scared to touch me again," Quatre said simply, the confidence in his voice making it seem like he could read right through Trowa's mind.

Trowa blinked although the action was hidden behind a cloth barrier. It was strange how Quatre figured the information out before even he did. As true as Quatre had stated, Trowa was indeed feeling a little apprehensive about continuing when his mind had just barely grasped any semblance of control.

"I should be getting dressed then," Quatre stated, not waiting for Trowa's response to whether he was right or not.

Sounds of rustling were heard again as Quatre dressed, seemingly slower this time. When the sound of movements stopped, Trowa was rewarded his sight having had his blindfold taken away from his head completely. He rubbed at his eyes absently, getting used to the sensation of air and light against eyes that had been hidden.

Trowa's eyes lingered on Quatre as he watched the other adjust the collar of his shirt. A muffler soon followed the ensemble to cover any evidences of injury. Duo was going to give him hell for it, he could tell. His friend's love for talking nonsense was overshadowed by his desire to rant on about what consequences Trowa had to face if any of his models ever took the initiative to sue him. Duo's lectures were for his well-being, he knew, but they were meant to sympathize with him as well. How he wished Quatre understood why he was sometimes plagued with manic tendencies he could not control.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Quatre said when he finished putting both his coat and gloves on. Trowa assumed he would be leaving, but was surprised when Quatre sat back down on the stool instead. "But we still have time," he added.

"Time for?"

"A discussion on who you think I am?" Quatre suggested playfully, the tilt of his head accentuating his curiosity.

"Why?"

Trowa preferred to speak less, especially when being dissected. For him, it was the best method of avoiding further scrutiny.

"Because something is guiding you toward false assumptions. I don't like that."

"Then perhaps I shall stop assuming," Trowa answered, not willing to discuss his speculations any further. He'd already voiced his suspicions that Quatre was wealthy and Quatre had acquiesced to it accordingly albeit being distracted by anger the day before.

"That's something you can't do," Quatre said, checking his watch before standing to leave. "My appearance leaves a lot of room for false assumptions. I suppose that asking you who you think I am is unnecessary when I already know what you're thinking."

"It's human nature to judge," Trowa said, following Quatre to the front door.

"I suppose," Quatre answered as he stepped out. "Curiosity is too," he said, turning back to face him. "That's the reason why I'm going to find out why that awe-inspiring sculpture in the middle of town square is credited to an anonymous artist. Do watch yourself Trowa. I'm not as harmless as I seem."

"Dangerous indeed," Trowa murmured, shutting his door to the cold air. It was going to be a burden trying to explain to Duo what he'd done.


	5. Part Five

**The Arabian Doll (Part Five)**

Trowa had expected the worst and, indeed, the worst had been delivered. Two hours straight of lecturing conducted by one very irate Duo Maxwell was enough punishment to last for weeks. An attack against his character at that point was more acceptable. Instead, he found himself faced with continual yapping that was a lot harder to bear.

"I should have been there," his long time friend kept on saying as he yammered on about his point while viciously biting down on a rather juicy apple. "I'm telling you," he said between chews, making him look a lot less serious than he actually was. "You could have killed him. Strangling? Since when did you resort to that? Self-control, Trowa; it's all about self-control!"

Trowa, ever the attentive and long-suffering of the pair, continued to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't gotten a word in since he'd told Duo what had happened the day before. Nevertheless, he was content with remaining silent for the time being. No energy was being expended from his position, so no further action was necessary. Once Duo was done, he would surely spend just as much energy defending himself.

"Oh no," Duo said in mock warning, shifting his finger from side to side. "We can't have some pretty face walking around with a bruise around his neck telling passers-by that he'd been working with Trowa Barton. How would that look? All that guy has to do is bat his pretty eyelashes. Those people would hunt you down and castrate you."

"I do hope so if it calms you down," Trowa was able to slip in. He was teasing, but his expression never changed.

"Calm me down?" Duo responded quite dramatically as he delivered another violent bite to the quickly disappearing fruit in his hand. "Nothing will calm me down!"

"I doubt it was his intention to damage my reputation so far that he would display his injuries very openly. He was not the least bit upset when he left. I can assure you that this won't be a problem."

Duo, seeming to tire from yelling, finally decided to take a seat and finish his fruit. Still, it was evident that he would not let the matter go.

"Tro," he said after having calmed down a bit. "You know I trust you right?"

Trowa nodded before sitting back and crossing his arms. It was going to be one of those semi-yelling, semi-serious discussions that he'd known Duo for. Had he been anyone else it would have been in one ear and out the other, but he was a good friend. Good friends braved the onslaught of sermons.

"You're a great guy, a bit on the quiet side, but you are one crazy, sadistic freak."

"You happen to point that out everyday," Trowa said in turn, serving himself a cup of coffee. The hot liquid was not meant for his stomach but for his freezing hands.

"The next time you get your hands on Quatre, he's going to end up looking like a kicked puppy wailing for his mommy to beat the crap out of you."

"And I will do that why?"

"Because he's gorgeous," Duo answered automatically, like it was the most natural answer in the world.

Trowa found himself at a loss for words as he cupped his hands around the warm mug. That truth was undeniable. Even Duo knew his weakness for beauty, for physical extravagance that his hands could not get enough of. His fingers could not help but caress the cup he was holding as if it were a delicate, uncommon object he was going to mold. However perverse it seemed, Trowa was obsessed with minute sensations and he would go far enough to satisfy that craving.

"Most of them are... gorgeous I mean," Trowa answered a little too late. Duo knew him too well.

"But none of them look like the offspring of a Greek god," Duo said, tossing the apple core into the nearest trash bin within his reach.

"He's not that flawless," Trowa whispered in response, sounding as if he did not believe it was true. It sounded like blasphemy on his lips, like an unfair lie spoken for the sake of the argument. The truth was, however, that Quatre was probably not the best representative of the human species. Everyone had their imperfections.

"Oh please, if you were just a tiny bit sexually inclined, you would have jumped him the first chance you got."

Trowa did not dignify the statement with an answer and instead concentrated on warming his hands. The smell of coffee was powerful as it entered his nostrils.

"If I had it my way, you're never going near him again," Duo continued, aware that Trowa was very capable of being the non-responsive side of the conversation when he wanted to. "But... you're an adult. I'll trust you not to do any harm to either of you."

Just in time, a knock resounded from the front door.

"Speaking of the devil," Duo said, leaving his seat to welcome their guest. It was the least he could do when Trowa was attending to his precious fingers. "Again, Trowa, self-control," Duo warned before opening the door. Not a few moments later, in came Quatre bundled up so tightly that only his reddened cheeks were visible.

"Good morning," Quatre greeted, taking his time as he peeled each layer off. It took a good five minutes before he was finally down to a comfortable looking button down shirt and light brown slacks. Duo wasted no time and circled around their newest companion.

"That's one nasty bruise," Duo said after having circled Quatre twice, only noticing the neck injury and nothing else. Trowa did not lie to him regularly or leave out details, but then when Trowa was going nuts, he usually missed some things. Duo thought it wise to check which other areas of the other man he'd injured.

"It's not a big deal," Quatre responded, bypassing Duo and his further scrutiny as he headed for Trowa.

"I'm assuming that I'm still not welcome during your sessions," Duo said, raising an eyebrow at Trowa although the statement was directed at Quatre. It seemed that today, Quatre was being one cold blonde, not that it took away any of his appeal.

Trowa shrugged barely an inch and motioned for Duo to leave without saying a word. It was best to appease his injured model by complying with what he wanted.

"Ok then. I know when I'm not wanted," Duo said, cheerily waving at Trowa. He stuck a tongue out at Quatre who had his back turned. Trowa did not wave back because he was preoccupied with staring at his model.

"You need to smell me," Quatre said as he approached slowly, ignoring Duo's departure.

"Excuse me?" Trowa said, almost letting go of the warm mug cupped in his hands. So far, that had been the strangest suggestion any model had ever put forward. Perhaps the momentary lack of air Quatre experienced the day before was muddling his brain. The shock was a little too much that Trowa forgot that he was not intending to drink the coffee. He almost choked when the bitter liquid touched his lips.

"I said you need to smell me," Quatre repeated as if his first proclamation was not as strange as it sounded.

"But that's obscene," Trowa replied, being unable to come up with a more suitable word to explain how he interpreted the statement.

"And you groping me while I'm naked isn't?" Quatre asked impatiently. His cheeks did not burn with the same intensity Trowa had witnessed days before. It could only be concluded that Quatre was resolute and found no embarrassment in his suggestion. There must have been a reason, but Trowa was currently trying to reconcile the strange suggestion with the man he knew to be sensible.

"Touching is part of the job. Smelling, however, requires that I put my face on your body," Trowa answered. That was as lucid as he could get.

"You can smell that coffee, can't you?" Quatre questioned, tilting his head to the side as if a curious child in need of an answer. To Trowa, it was the perfect tilt and his analysis of it almost made him forget that he had to answer a question.

"Of course," he said, unwilling to take his eyes off Quatre's face in fear that he would forget an important detail. It was only now that he noticed the change in Quatre's eye color as it shifted with the change of emotion on his face. Aquamarine sometimes became deep blue, sometimes dark green, and other times a mixture of both that it became too dark to distinguish.

"If you can learn how to identify me by smell then you might be able to remember not to squeeze too hard... since you won't be able to use your eyes."

"Fair enough," Trowa said after a few moments of consideration. As long as he was able to work on Quatre, he considered the request to be perfectly reasonable. After all, his hands had been itching to touch him since he'd last done so. Any more waiting and he would have to find a different distraction.

"Then it's settled," Quatre said, handing him a black handkerchief before turning away and beginning to undress. For a moment, Trowa considered cheating. He considered delaying the use of the blindfold if only to get a glimpse of the curvaceous back he knew was radiantly white and perfectly smooth to the touch.

When Quatre's shirt came off, he was caught in a momentary trance that rendered him unable to move. His eyes, perhaps hungrier than his hands, danced across muscles along both scapula until they semi-met as the button-down shirt slid off narrow shoulders.

"Now _that_, I consider obscene," Quatre voiced, breaking Trowa's unrelenting concentration. He pointed to the blindfold that was still on Trowa's lap, refusing to face him as if his back wasn't already being exposed as it was. "Indulging yourself in voyeurism are you?"

"With something like that? Of course I am," Trowa answered frankly, still staring at Quatre's back to follow the minutest movements as the object of his observation turned to face away again.

"I assure you nothing else is coming off as long as that blindfold isn't secured over your eyes."

"You drive a hard bargain," Trowa said as he proceeded to walk toward his work bench. When he was sure that his materials were ready, he placed the handkerchief over his eyes, obscuring his view of everything. His senses automatically heightened to a degree he could vaguely remember from the last incident. Hopefully this time, he would be able to control himself.

Not a few moments later, he felt a cold hand cup around the back of his neck. Quatre, he sensed, was not as nervous as he was the first time. His steady hand was the only clue, but it was reliable. He closed his eyes beneath the already secure obstruction as he felt his head being lead forward. The tip of his nose came in contact with skin before it was guided to within centimeters of the other.

"Your nose is cold," Quatre hissed while continuing to guide his head.

Quatre's skin was warm and smelled clean against his nostrils that he couldn't help but lean down until his nostrils were in contact with skin. He moved his questing head; this time not guided by his hands and found himself positioned in the junction between Quatre's neck and shoulders.

"You smell exquisite," he said although he would never claim to be an expert on smells. The clay, metal and stone that occupied his work area were the only objects he could identify by smell.

Quatre did not say anything, only held his head before breathing in deeply, exhaling, and then letting go of the death grip he had on Trowa's head. Allowed to explore on his own, Trowa reached up with both hands to steady himself. Guided by the expertise his nose could not provide, Trowa's fingers wandered quickly over flesh that grew familiar with time.

"At least your hands are warm," Quatre noted as he stiffened every now and then when Trowa's hands wandered into once forbidden territory. It was obvious that he was trying to control himself from squirming or fleeing from the situation he had unknowingly put himself in.

"I don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it is," Trowa said, refusing to stop his nose from its quest. He smirked to himself, knowing that Quatre had thought it was a good idea. It was too bad that the other did not anticipate that Trowa would take full advantage of the situation. Ten fingers were now joined by a pointy nose that was beginning to love the attention it was being given.

His model remained quiet. Trowa took it as an invitation to investigate further. Grasping a slender arm, he moved his questing head until he found his nose against the ridge between Quatre's shoulder blades. Muscles quivered when his hands attached themselves to the flat planes of his stomach.

"Why did you leave home?" Trowa questioned when he felt Quatre tense for the tenth time since they started.

"I already told you; stop assuming."

Trowa moved his nose until it landed again on the back of a taut neck which seemed to become his favorite feature of his Arabian model. Something about the slender neck, the way it held the proud head up high called to him. The strong column almost challenged him to find out what kept it from curving downwards in the face of near absolute shame.

"Only displaced persons take odd jobs such as this," Trowa pointed out. His hands left their purchase on the flat planes of a resistant stomach and slid up lean arms to land on either side of his own nose. He was back to where he started. The neck was too tempting.

"Then you're saying that all your creations thus far have been nothing but representations of persons forced into odd jobs," Quatre concluded. His voice held the conviction Trowa was becoming familiar with.

"Forced is not the word I would use," Trowa responded, pausing in his actions. "I never ruled out abject poverty as an alternative to taking odd jobs."

Quatre did not speak immediately after. He didn't move either. All Trowa felt was a steady heartbeat against his unmoving palms plastered on the still confident neck. It didn't curve downward, not even an inch.

"Why do you want to find out?" Quatre questioned after what seemed like ninety heartbeats and a breath. "My circumstances have nothing to do with the job."

Trowa's steady hand moved upward, intending to feel the expression on Quatre's face when he revealed his reasoning.

"I want to know what makes you bleed," he whispered into his model's ear.

For the first time since he'd been working with the other, Trowa sensed fear, a deep fear that refused to express itself on Quatre's handsome countenance. His expression remained passive, but Trowa could almost swear that he smelled the scent of unease building up around the Arabian's body.

"Whatever it is that makes you bleed will make you real," Trowa continued, mercifully relinquishing his hold on Quatre. He stepped back, giving the other some room to breathe without leaving his position still behind him. It gave him some semblance of control. He was still the molder and Quatre still the basis of his end product.

"What does that mean?" Quatre asked him. Despite not being able to see anything, Trowa knew that Quatre did not turn to face him.

"What I want from you is raw emotion, emotion that will make your muscles cry, make your ligaments scream with realism. I want your body to tell me that it's angry or sad or pleased. All I sense from you is nervousness and that is a much too common end result in all the other monuments I've seen."

Trowa stopped before he said anymore. Usually, he didn't work as hard to explain himself. Most of the time, he would just make his models cry in shame, agony, or even absolute disgust for him. He'd feel their hiccups, their tears cascading down the curves of their face and then, he'd console them. After that, he would touch them again to try to gauge the minutest changes as they calmed down and accepted his apologies. They would then be pleased after being treated gently, so Trowa would touch them again. When the circle of emotions had reached its peak, he'd do it all over again until he got the details of his work down perfectly.

"You're trying to manipulate me," Quatre said. He didn't sound like he was accusing, only contemplating the information he'd been given. "You want to break me down to pieces by turning me into an emotional wreck."

"That is precisely what I'm doing," Trowa answered with no remorse. The models, they all hated him for digging too deep into their personal lives. Causing them physical pain was not the only reason why Duo had to keep him in line.

"You've got no fear," Quatre said with an amused laugh, finally turning to face him. Trowa heard the sound of flesh sliding against the wooden stool as he moved. "Since you're so keen about bullying displaced persons taking odd jobs, I find it only proper that I challenge you."

"Because you are one of those displaced persons?"

"You won't get the answer out of me that easily."

For someone who didn't want to be seen naked despite the nature of his job, Quatre was very bold. Trowa had to admire him for not falling for his strap so easily. He supposed Quatre had an advantage what with his foresight to ask what he was intending to do to him. Still, he sounded like a formidable opponent who would not easily give in to his demands. He was relieved that he didn't have an absolute deadline. Otherwise, he would be scrapped for time.

"I take it you're not going to tell me why you took this job."

"I already told you," Quatre answered. Trowa could swear he could feel the other smile. "I took the job because your friend was whining very loudly at a street corner about not being able to find a model for his friend."

"You know that's not what I mean."

Under the circumstances, Trowa would have been irritated by the response, but he was oddly pleased.

"Well then, if you want to dig deeper then you're going to have to work harder," Quatre said. Trowa could not help but cross his arms. "I bet you never expected non-compliance from me."

"You were never compliant to begin with," Trowa replied as he remember all the times he had to coax the other into taking his clothes off.

Quatre was about as easy to work with as a giddy five year old on a sugar high. Still, the challenge in him was interesting, exciting even. It brought a spark of something out of him, something he hadn't felt in so long if he ever did feel it. It had not only his fingers looking forward to the interaction, but had his entire being wanting to partake of the experience of exploration.

"Easy is boring," Quatre said. Trowa was then pulled forward unexpectedly. "It's time to get back to work."

With his hands replaced in its former position against his model, Trowa resumed feeling his way around Quatre. Just because the other did not give in did not mean that he could still make something out of what he'd been memorizing. He'd seen enough emotion off of Quatre. All he needed to do was feel it. With an acceptance of momentary defeat, Trowa happily continued the process of feeding his fingers sensual information.

"No wonder your works look so real," Quatre said after a while. "You really do recreate the living person. Your inanimate recreations are alive. I've never seen your dolls, but I've seen at least one of your sculptures. I must say that I was entranced by the sight of it."

Trowa nodded, taking in the compliments without showing any signs of delight at the mention of his work in a good light. However, he was satisfied with the response he received. Quatre's flesh was practically bouncing with joy as he spoke. He didn't even notice it. Perhaps his model would have to show him agony at a later time, but for now, he was being demonstrated his model's version of enthusiasm. It was good enough.

The trick, Trowa knew, was to catch them off-guard. He would have gloated if he were the type to do so. Instead, he remained indifferent and concentrated as he continued moving his fingers across the expanse of smooth skin. Catching Quatre off-guard was tricky, but he'd successfully exploited one weakness. Quatre was more responsive when he wasn't aware, more emotive than he let himself out to be. That was the most electrifying aspect of Quatre. His lips twitched up the tiniest bit.


	6. Part Six

**The Arabian Doll (Part Six)**

Quatre was quiet when he entered Trowa's apartment. Duo was nowhere to be found having mysteriously disappeared the day before only with word of a meeting with old acquaintances. Trowa did not mind the absence, especially since he was preoccupied with somebody else.

"Do you need anything before we start?" Trowa questioned. After a number of sessions, he became accustomed to preparing anything his model requested. Whether it be extra logs in the fireplace or a hot drink, no request within his capacity was denied. Whatever Quatre wanted, Quatre got. Of course, there was still the matter of what he requested in return. Although more permissive, his model continued to be obstinate.

"How about a trip to somewhere warm this time of year?" Quatre suggested. He was just teasing, but with the way he shook in response to the cold weather outside, he supposed that Quatre was half-serious. His teeth were chattering as he rubbed his arms. All that came to Trowa's mind was how fast he could get Quatre to warm up so he could strip. Too much clothing was covering him, leaving only his eyes available for viewing.

"Let me get you a cup of hot cider," Trowa said instead of responding to Quatre's request. He was thinking along the lines of serving Quatre alcoholic cider but decided against it. It was almost as if he heard the voice of Duo saying that doing so would be illegal in some parts of the world. He didn't exactly want to get in trouble, especially when he still had a job to finish. The slow process of sweet-talking Quatre into getting into rather uncomfortable positions would have to do for the time being.

"Make sure it's non-alcoholic," Quatre voiced from the living room.

Trowa almost dropped the mug he'd taken from the cupboard. It was eerie how Quatre seemed to have read his mind. Retrieving a small pot and a bottle of cider, Trowa let the stove burn before preparing the drink. Some cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and spices were added to the liquid before he left it alone to boil. It smelled delicious and he knew it would taste just as good. Living in the cold for far too long had taught him how to find ways to make the temperature more bearable.

Leaving the liquid to heat up, Trowa peeked past the kitchen to check if Quatre had settled down. Unfortunately, his model remained standing. Even more unfortunate was that not one piece of clothing left his still shivering body.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," Trowa said before going back to check on the pot.

"I can't. My jacket's too bulky," Quatre responded. Trowa sympathized with him. It looked like Quatre could topple over if he were pushed the tiniest bit. It didn't help much either that he was wearing equally bulky gloves that made the use of his fingers practically useless.

"Here," Trowa said, after turning the flame off the stove. He left the liquid to cool down for a bit while he helped Quatre.

Approaching the other, he made sure to let him know that he was just behind him before taking out the scarf that was covering his neck. Trowa then pulled the gloves out and proceeded to unfasten the huge buttons of the cumbersome jacket, unmindful of the fact that Quatre could now do it himself. He continued with the bulkiest layer only to find that there was another jacket inside.

"You seem to like undressing me," Quatre observed while he remained where he stood. He made no move to help Trowa with the task.

"Anything it takes," Trowa answered dryly. Actually, his hands were agitated having been exposed to the cold earlier that day on his trip to the bakery. They needed the warmth that they had gotten used to and the warmth that only his current model could provide.

Quatre did not answer and continued to remain where he stood with his arms planted to his sides and his eyes watching the movement before him. Trowa continued with his task, getting down to the sweater underneath the second jacket before stopping. There were limits and Quatre's unvoiced command said just that. His eyes, although neither accusing nor cautionary, gave him only one option. Before Trowa could do any more, he went to the kitchen to retrieve the warm cider.

Trowa kept his observation of Quatre's potent ability to himself and offered his model the cup of soothing liquid. The apple cider, he knew for a fact, would make Quatre feel cozy and more comfortable in the quickly warming apartment. The fire coming from the hearth felt plenty warm.

"Thanks," Quatre said when he was handed the mug. He took a sip of it and sighed in content. Trowa was pleased that his recipe was appreciated. After having discovered it for the sake of Duo's endlessly chattering mouth some cold winter days ago, he had learned how to appreciate the value of fine flavors. He had the potential of becoming a great cook and wouldn't mind changing professions if the doll business ever went bad. His clients have been few and far between recently, but at least they paid well. For the time being, his hobby could remain his business.

"This hot cider is pretty good," Quatre murmured into the hot liquid. He took another sip from the steaming mug; unmindful of the burning sensation the heat was causing his tongue.

Trowa sat across from him and watched him enjoy the drink. He noticed Quatre's cheeks turn bright pink after being exposed to the cold and then the heat. No matter what extreme temperature, it seemed, his cheeks always resulted in the same hue.

"He wants it in color," Trowa said out of the blue, remembering what his client's specifications were.

Quatre blinked and then turned his head to look at him quizzically.

"Excuse me?" Quatre said. He looked confused, like he'd missed the question while concentrating on his drink.

"You won't do," Trowa said next. He leaned back on his seat and examined Quatre again. "You're not even Arabian."

Quatre seemed offended by his statement as he placed his mug gently on the coffee table before frowning at him. The crease that appeared between his brows made the prominence of his blonde hair even more pronounced. The hair on his eyebrows was just as bright as the hair above his head, reminding Trowa that he may have been doing far too much leisure out of what should have been a job. After a full night of evaluation, he realized that Quatre just wouldn't do.

"How would _you _know that? You haven't even checked my identity to disconfirm that I'm not," Quatre protested. Why he seemed bothered by it, Trowa could not tell, but he did like the slight pout forming on the other man's lips.

"I haven't confirmed it either. There is currently no reason for me to accept your claim," Trowa responded, before standing up to examine his model. Indeed, he wasted far too much time perfecting a replicate of this specimen he couldn't even present to his client. His mind told him that Quatre should have been tanner, should have had darker colored hair, and should have had the face of someone accustomed to the sandy deserts he'd only seen in picture books. Still, there was much to consider. He didn't exactly know how Arabians should have looked like to begin with. All the references he's received from Duo were caricatures and odd renditions meant to popularize a certain aspect of a region's people.

Quatre crossed his arms in dismay.

"You've been working with me for weeks now," he said, himself leaning back on his side of the couch. "I don't see why you've continued despite having your doubts about me. I don't ever remember you questioning my lineage."

"I rather enjoy feeling you up," Trowa responded in earnest. Normally, such statements were barred by Duo as obscene, but Duo was nowhere near them and what Duo didn't know about didn't matter.

Rather than being offended by the statement or blushing in embarrassment, Quatre put a hand to his face and laughed. He seemed genuinely amused by the statement, his eyes lighting up in mirth. Their intensity, after being emphasized by the burning fire close to him, doubled. It forced Trowa pay closer attention to his face.

"I'd be offended if I'm not already used to you," Quatre said after a good round of laughter. "But as it is, I know for a fact that I'm exactly what you're looking for."

The statement, emphasized with a smirk, caught Trowa off guard.

"If I may say so, I believe that you don't have the ability to pick the models out yourself despite the fact that you're very skilled when it comes to recreating them. Duo, for instance, must have instinctively put himself before you when you were looking for a subject for that sculpture you made for the town square."

Trowa became guarded, his normal reaction to being so easily analyzed. He felt as though Quatre knew more than he let on. For him to figure out that the graceful body exuding bare flesh displayed at the town square was the same, clumsy Duo who was more boisterous than poignant was uncanny. Nobody had known it was Duo save for the family who so effortlessly disinherited him for taking part in what they considered to be scandalous activity. Apparently, the wealthy Maxwell family deemed the result of his work more indecent than discovering their son with another man. Trowa was aware that he had some modesty issues to deal with, but some people were just ridiculous.

"He would rather not have me mention anything to do with it," Trowa responded, momentarily disregarding Quatre's observations of him. Duo's one and only modeling job was a bit of a difficult subject.

"I see," Quatre answered, picking up his quickly cooling drink. "Must be family problems," he murmured next. His guess was dead accurate, but Trowa had no intention of letting him know that.

Instead of fueling Quatre's curiosity further, he quickly changed the subject.

"I have something to show you," he said, foregoing to need to begin their session. Anything to get Quatre's mind off Duo was necessary. He'd been adamant about showing Quatre some of the results of his work, but decided to do so anyway. If Quatre saw how far he'd gotten, the other just might allow him to delve a little deeper and explore a little further. It was a long shot, but anything that would help his cause as soon as possible was fine. His client did not mind the wait, but his hands were certainly itching for more of his ever-reluctant model.

"Oh," Quatre said, finishing his drink. He proceeded to the kitchen to take care of the used mug before coming back to join Trowa once again. He did not sit and instead remained standing as if waiting for a surprise that Trowa was sure to deliver. Trowa decided not to make him wait.

"Follow me," he said as he walked toward the closed off-section of his apartment that no one save for Duo had seen before. It was his private area, the place where he did his real work during the wee hours of the night when he could not sleep. Most of the time, his rush of inspiration came at the oddest hours.

Quatre followed close behind him and Trowa noticed his companion for the day checking his surroundings. Trowa felt a little conscious as the object of his next masterpiece looked around the old, dusty room. There was a sprinkle of dust covering the room while remains of stone sectioned out from his still unfinished sculpture littered the floors. A hammer and a stone pick were placed on top of his work desk where other pieces of jagged shaped stone also rested.

"I'd always believed that you worked near the fireplace," Quatre voiced, looking around the room as if inspecting it for the unimaginable. "I don't see any of your other works," Quatre said next. He was careful to avoid the discarded materials on the floor.

"I don't like to keep a lot of my work much, unless of course it suits my eyes enough to remain where it was created."

"Really?" Quatre asked with doubt.

"Really," Trowa responded dryly. He pulled a stool out of the dusty desk and offered Quatre the rickety seat. It was old and well-used, but at least it would do the job. Quatre, seeming to be used to the antiquity of all the materials he came into contact with in Trowa's apartment, easily took the proffered seat.

Satisfied that his spectator was more or less comfortable, Trowa approached the only covered object in the room. Underneath the large, white cloth in the middle of the room was something he was reluctant to show Quatre. Trowa couldn't tell exactly why that was. The life-size figure underneath was one of his most favorite masterworks.

"This is you," Trowa said, before pulling out the dusty cloth.

Quatre coughed for an instant, not prepared for the dirt that was sent his way. Waving his hands in front of his face to fight the dust's assault on his lungs, Quatre coughed a couple of times. Trowa shrugged to himself. Perhaps he didn't expect the dust to be that bad. He'd been working around it for too long.

"I didn't think you'd even started yet," Quatre said while continuing to wave his hand in front of him. He seemed to be trying to adjust his eyes to the dusty atmosphere.

"Some of your evaluations of me are rather off-putting," Trowa responded, before folding the cloth he'd used to cover the sculpture. He was waiting for Quatre's judgment of his work. The other seemed to believe that he was skilled, but his reaction to this particular piece would decide all.

"It's," Quatre said. He sounded like he was having a hard time trying to find the right words.

"That's a rather dismal response," Trowa said, turning towards Quatre and expecting to see a look of awkward, if not outright, hesitancy. Instead, Quatre looked shocked. Trowa supposed that it was better than disgust.

"That's not me," Quatre said after what seemed like ages of staring.

"I'm good at what I do," Trowa replied. "And that is who I say it is."

Quatre continued to gawk and gawk at his replica no less. He was speechless as he reached his hand out to touch the figure without actually making contact with it.

"This is what I feel with my hands," Trowa explained. He placed his right hand on the sculpture since Quatre seemed reluctant to do it himself. "These are how your muscles feel like," he continued, tracing his fingertips on the bicep area of the replica.

He went closer to the sculpture and placed both his hands on the carved chest. Using his palms, he explored last night's work, letting his fingers dance along the cold that was so unlike the warmth and suppleness of the real thing. Closing his eyes and imaging the warmth, Trowa continued to investigate every single inch of Quatre's body without touching the real thing.

"Your neck is my favorite," he voiced out loud. "It's so majestic, so passionate in its reluctance to bow down to anyone or anything."

Trowa continued, this time, with Quatre's neck before moving both his hands down though the flat stomach until just below the stone sculpture's pelvis. Still with his eyes closed, Trowa paused before going further. This time, his hands surveyed finely shaped thighs all the way down to the ankles that were just barely finished. The figure, in its entirety, was almost complete save for his calve and foot areas.

"I could imagine you dancing in fugue, in a frenzy of carefree movements controlled by restrictive muscles that force exquisite shapes on your limbs," he said before quickly moving his hands back up until they reached the junction just between his thighs and his groin. His other hand was strategically placed against the outward curve of Quatre's behind.

"How?" Quatre said, he almost sounded frantic although Trowa could not tell why because his eyes remained closed. "How did you? My... my--" Quatre said, unable to say what it was he wanted to say.

Trowa opened one eye.

"You mean this?" Trowa said, shamelessly groping that which was the most taboo of all places to touch. Secretly, Trowa enjoyed the way Quatre's eyes went wide and the way his cheeks flushed. He knew it was not because of the heat in the apartment or the cold brought on by the outside weather. Quatre was merely expressing his trauma at having been handled so brazenly. His replica might as well have been him.

"That--" Quatre said. He was again speechless as he stared at where Trowa's hand was.

"I happen to remember you kicking me with a foot for going that far," Trowa answered with a slight upward turn of his lips. Whenever Quatre became difficult, he did like to cause the other a little bit of discomfort. That way, they were even.

"You went _there_ just _once_," Quatre said in a voice that almost made it seem like he was screaming.

"For some regions, once is more than enough, especially when examining more than once will become a difficulty," Trowa answered. He let go of the part they seemed to be discussing the most about and watched the drama that was Quatre unfold.

"I," his model said before abruptly standing up. "I forgot that I had an appointment today," he said. "I better get going."

Trowa noticed that despite avoiding eye contact, Quatre's head remained facing upward. After all he'd done to catch him off guard; it seemed that Quatre continued to hold his head up high. It made his suspicions about the other even more plausible. This outwardly humble man had obviously been brought up by the wealthy who seemed to have the knack for refusing to bow down to anyone no matter how grave the circumstances. Quatre's neck, Trowa's professed favorite, remained straight and proud.

Unfortunately, Trowa had managed to drive the other away too soon by going too far. Quatre looked too embarrassed to stay and too scandalized to give Trowa the chance to save that day's session. By the time Trowa finished covering up his sculpture and following Quatre out, the other was already bundled up and ready to leave.

"We haven't finished today's session," Trowa said, leaning against the doorframe leading to his private room. His arms were crossed in subtle accusation.

"We have to cancel for today," Quatre responded. The way he said it made it clear that he would not take no for an answer.

"Suit yourself," Trowa answered nonchalantly while watching Quatre head for the front door. Quatre did not say any more, at least, until he reached the front door. He'd opened it to find a blizzard outside. Not only that, there was also too much snow that it was almost impossible that he'd get far enough without freezing to death first.

"I'm snowed it," he said with horror. Trowa didn't think he was bad enough to deserve Quatre's unspoken need to avoid. It was obvious that his hired model didn't want to be around him at the moment.

"I'll get some extra pillows and a blanket," Trowa said. The wall clock read 8pm and it was unlikely that Quatre would walk home at that time of night in that bad a weather. It was only unfortunate for his model that their session was scheduled late that day. Quatre mentioned something about not getting out of his day job until later.

"Why are you assuming that I'm staying tonight?" Quatre said, turning to face him. Although the door was closed, he continued to remain standing next to it while his hands sought the comfort of his warm armpits. He looked like a giant snowball tinted dark blue.

"Because you have no other choice," Trowa replied before going into his room. After retrieving a bag labeled 'Duo's emergency extras', Trowa pulled his reluctant tenant for the night toward the warmer area by the couch. "Here, these should keep you warm," he said. Quatre took the offered blanket without question. He looked a little awkward with the bulky jacket and gloves still on him.

Quatre stood where he was and stared at the fireplace. Trowa couldn't tell what was going through his mind. Not knowing what else to do, he watched his model for any indication of what else he wanted. His covered body with only part of his face showing made Trowa think of the Arabians in the picture books he'd seen. Some men were covered, only part of their face showing from their covered bodies.

"Undress me," Quatre said all of a sudden after what was at least five minutes of silence.

"Excuse me?" Trowa asked. He felt as though he didn't hear the question correctly.

"Take off my clothes," Quatre commanded and his voice was unwavering in its insistence. However odd it may have been, it was undeniable that Quatre was ordering him to strip him. Trowa, never one to refuse opportunities such as those, complied immediately.

Slowly, as if the opportunity would never arise again, Trowa worked on taking the layers of clothing off Quatre's confined body. Jacket after jacket came off before his guest for the night was down to the sweater. Trowa was surprised when Quatre did not order him to stop and lifted the warm wool from around his neck. All the while, Quatre continued to stare at the flames as if a doll being cosseted by its master. Trowa thought it eerie but did not care as the shirt, the last layer, joined the sweater and jackets on the floor to expose his chest. The blindfolds he used at their sessions deprived him of Quatre's flesh for far too long, so Trowa reveled in the new experience.

"Continue," Quatre ordered with a distant voice. His eyes looked calm, never blinking as it was illuminated by the iridescent flickering of the fire he was staring at.

Trowa followed orders, but not before taking the time to run his hands through the flesh he'd already memorized with his hands. It was a delight to supply his hungry eyes with the sight it was refused of for so long. His hands, guided by his sight, eagerly devoured every surface it could come into contact with. That was, until they landed on a pant button which was bitterly cold against his fingers. It was a sign, more than any other sign that it had to go. Anything and everything keeping him from seeing that which he was supposed to recreate in its entirety had to go.

Trowa had just gotten Quatre's jeans halfway down when he suddenly heard somebody tumble in through the window.

"Burr, it sure is cold outside," their newest companion said. Snow was trailing behind him and was continuing to come in while the window remained open. It seemed that Duo had yet to realize that he had interrupted something.

"So I was trying to walk in through the front door when lo and behold, the snow was way too high, so I decided, hey, why not come in through the window if there wasn't any big-ass snow build-up around it..."

Trowa had to cough to catch Duo's attention. Meanwhile, Quatre was no longer staring at the fire.

When Duo finally decided to take notice, he blinked a couple of times.

"Hey Quatre," he said with a wave of his hand. "Whoa, you really are a natural blonde!" he said, pointing at the slight bush of hair sneaking out of Quatre's boxers.

Trowa opened his front door, picked up a bit of snow with his bare hands, and then threw a snowball at Duo which hit him right on the face. He made sure that it was the last session Duo would ever interrupt and the last inconvenience his poor hands would ever experience.


	7. Part Seven

**The Arabian Doll (Conclusion)**

"I didn't know!"

Trowa continued to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Breakfast that morning had been more awkward than necessary with their guest keeping to himself for the most part of the morning. It had been about ten minutes since he'd left, the snow having almost miraculously cleared up that sunny morning. It had also been ten minutes since Duo started apologizing for what he knew was a grave sin. Trowa let him. Sure, it was on the list of most annoying things he had to endure, but it was necessary. It wasn't everyday that he got to see Quatre Winner in the flesh and thanks to the particularly loud, now apologizing friend, his plans had been foiled.

"I mean, I thought the session ended earlier what with the news of a snow storm," Duo continued. True, all his reasons were acceptable. They were sensible even. Still, they lacked one important element and the element it lacked was a naked model next to a finished project.

"All I was missing were the ankles and one overall look," Trowa said as he let the hot water run across the soapy surface of a plate. "I was almost there," he reiterated.

Freeing up one project meant that he could start another and since he'd missed an overall look the night before, he had no idea how to go about the next step. Detail was necessary and it had become apparent the last few months that Quatre did not like detail, especially when it involved himself. Last night was a fluke and a very lucky one at that. He doubted that he'd get a second chance. Now that he thought about it, he should have started with the lower body first.

"Geez man, listen to you," Duo said with an irritated wave of his hand. "_That's_ why you were pissed? You didn't get to see his ankles? What did you think _he_ was thinking?"

"It doesn't matter if it doesn't involve a finished piece," Trowa responded as he worked on the next dirty dish.

"Wrong answer," Duo voiced with a frown. "Try again."

"What do you want me to say? I never know what he's thinking. He talks in riddles most of the time and the few times he's direct, I get the feeling that he's hiding something else."

"And you didn't manage to find out what it is he's hiding?"

Trowa sighed in vexation. He didn't know where the conversation was going and didn't know just how it would lead to his ultimate goal. He had no deadline, but he was still a professional. There was no reason to let a project stall for as long as it already had.

"I told you. I don't know."

"He wanted to sleep with you last night Trowa."

Trowa blinked. Sure, it was not something new. The models he worked with tended to grow some sort of attachment or false attraction toward him, but this was unexpected. Quatre was stubborn and unyielding. There was no way he could so easily be enticed like some common man.

"If I didn't jump in the fray last night, he would have ended up unfulfilled and miserable. The guy's too nice Trowa. I didn't want you to hurt him."

"Physically?" Trowa questioned. No doubt about it, physical injury was part of the job. He admitted that he got a little too intense when feeling up his models at times.

"No you stone wall," Duo answered with a roll of his eyes. "Emotionally."

Pondering what Duo said, Trowa could not figure out where the 'emotional' connection was made.

"Explain," he said before drying the last dish and wiping his hands on a towel. He sat directly in front of Duo with every intention of finding out what it was Quatre was really hiding.

"He wanted to sleep with you and when you touch him the way you do, it makes it seem like you feel the same way. What he doesn't know is that you lovingly touch unwitting strangers you call models not because you like them, but because you like what you'll make out of them. Do you get it?"

"Quatre thinks I like him," Trowa said in conclusion.

"Don't you?" Duo asked next.

The answer never came.

Neither did Quatre.

After waiting for the rest of the day, Trowa decided that Quatre was just not up to seeing Duo, but after waiting the next week, he decided that he was never coming back. Something that happened the very last session was the culprit.

For the next week, he spent his time staring at his almost finished project and halfway through midnight on the fifteenth day, Trowa destroyed the marble sculpture. Rock after rock came tumbling down the once magnificent statue. With the same hammer he used to pick delicately at the once jagged rock, Trowa swung. With every scream came a frustration released through hostility and with every hit came a flaw that could never be repaired. Arms went flying to the ends of the room and bits of torso landed just below his feet. Dust covered his entire workplace, but this dust was not the dust of creation that always littered the room. This dust was a consequence of the destruction of his most brilliant work to date.

His hands, most of all, were furious. Desperate to touch Quatre, they shook with fury. His fingers were not satisfied with weaving through hard rock and could not forget the sweet pleasure of warm, almost too hot skin. The memory of the warmth of the human body - Quatre's human body was too strong that it made his hands go rigid as if there was a cramp in every muscle. Despite the rigidity, his hands held on tight to the hammer as if the hammer would confer punishment upon the unworthy and unfinished piece that gave credence to his failure. Quatre was no more.

The late morning of the same day, Trowa could do nothing but stare at his handiwork. Bits of rocks in varying sizes littered the room. His shirt, once a deep blue, was now peppered with pulverized marble. His delicate hands were scratched and scraped in many places. Even after the deed was done, they continued to shake. They were hot with overuse and continuing want. They were obsessed with the feel of Quatre and no one else. He knew that not even a thousand models would be worthy. This piece was delegated as Quatre's replica. No other body would suffice.

Slowly, he stood, working his way around the mess he made. It only became apparent to him that he did not do an effective enough job of destroying his latest piece when his feet came across a still intact head. Colorless eyes stared back at him from the floor with an expression of defiance. It was a cold defiance he knew well.

Trowa bent down, intent on shattering the lucky survivor but stopped when his hands came in contact with his most favored part. Lifting the severed head to his eye level, Trowa could almost feel the veins in the inanimate neck as it pulsed against his jittery hands. He could not forget. That same appendage chastised him for demolishing its body, for being unable to dig deep enough to figure out what he was missing. It was not the ankles. It was never the ankles.

"It's the guise," Trowa admitted. The contemplative way the answer came out of his mouth surprised him. He never was able to figure out Quatre Winner and now that he was gone, no clues were left for him to follow.

He examined the head once again. The replicate Quatre looked back at him with the same expression. He tilted his head and looked at the severed head in an angle and then another angle until his eyes had revolved around every inch of the figure and they were engorged with the minutest of information.

"How would you like me to finish you?" Trowa asked the object which he knew would never answer.

Trowa sneezed once and then twice, the dust seeming to invade his lungs. He ran a hand through the bottom of his nose and then adjusted his grip on the head.

"I can finish you," he proclaimed. And then he admitted "I could have finished you a long time ago."

He cleared out a work table and placed the head carefully on top. When the nearly circular object tilted and rolled, he picked it up and propped it up against a piece of rock and a bag of plaster. He plucked a broom and a dust pan out of a closet and began cleaning his mess. It was half-way through his task when he noticed the presence of Duo just outside his door.

"You don't have to find him for me," he said steadily to the friend he knew was concerned. "I've figured it out."

"Whatever you say Trowa," was all Duo said before his footsteps disappeared with the almost too silent clicking of the front door's lock.

Having swept the bits of rock and dust to the corner of the room, Trowa retrieved a covered object. He pulled on the cloth and nearly smiled when a virgin piece came into view. It was untouched, sharp and jagged in most places yet with a natural smoothness in the most remote of places. Nothing felt better than starting anew. This piece had no flaws, no manipulations, only Mother Nature's touch and a plan directed at it to recreate an Arabian man. This was going to be the piece he would finish.

Picking up a hammer and a broad chisel, Trowa started to pick at the formation. Soon enough, he would recreate the project he'd been working on for too long.

Not a week later, he was at his client's residence presenting the finished commission.

"It's a striking piece."

Trowa nodded to the direction of his client. He was quite pleased with the finished product himself. It had taken him some hammering and shaping as well as constructive recollection of the body that was Quatre's.

"The veil-thin illusion... you did an amazing job."

Nodding again, Trowa watched another satisfied customer circle his masterpiece. It was not beyond the wealthy man to be mesmerized with the way with which he'd fulfilled his request. The Arabian man, hard and immobile in front of them, looked almost too real. His skin looked soft enough to squeeze and his expression real enough to deem animate. The sculpture was alive even more so than anything else he'd ever worked on.

He looked with reverence at the Arabian man again. One arm was placed idly at his side while the other was shielding his eyes from the supposed harsh rays that only existed as an imaginary backdrop. His eyes were neither squinted nor strained. They were open, the same way Quatre's eyes always looked guarded but sincere. He was not looking for something. He was merely looking contemplatively forward.

"I would have said he looked bored, but now that I've taken a closer look, it looks like he's troubled."

Trowa nodded a third time. This client was to his liking. He dissected the sculpture with more avid deliberation than most people would care to give. Indeed, the Arabian man was disturbed although his distress did not appear in the form of lines disfiguring his cherubic face. This man was looking forward and what he is seeing at the end of that 'forward' would be a story left untold.

"What made you decide on--?"

"The attire?" Trowa interrupted. He had inkling that it would be a point of question, but curious minds were the type he lived off. They gave his work a purpose.

"Yes. It is rather unorthodox."

Trowa directed his attention to his client and assessed him before explaining his rationale.

"This Arabian man is complex," Trowa explained as he motioned at the figure. "It is almost too easy to see his naked form and yet a thin cloth covers him in a sham we shall call 'clothing'."

"Ah," the wealthy new owner of the sculpture said. "It almost seems like he's got nothing to hide, but the truth is that everything is hidden."

Delivering his third nod, Trowa looked again at the sculpture. It was a thing of beauty. The Arabian man was clothed in robes reminiscent of those who crossed the desserts. His head was covered in a headdress - a long piece of cloth secured at the top with a double head cord he'd come to learn as something called aghal. His body was covered in robes that almost reached to the tips of his toes. His magnificent body would have been completely unseen if not for the fact that the robes were made of the thinnest of cloths. Through the thin material one could see the bare body, every single musculature bleeding through the barrier. One could almost say that the robe was see-through, but since this was a sculpture, such a word would not apply. Naked and yet clothed - he rather liked the idea.

"Magnificent!" his client said with a laugh. "So tell me," he continued. "How has he been?"

"Excuse me?" Trowa asked.

"My son, how is he doing?"

Trowa paused, not knowing what to say. He did not know who the man's son was or perhaps he simply did not understand what abstract question his wealthy client was alluding to.

"Quatre has really grown," the man said next.

Trowa stepped back from the sculpture. This was quite unexpected.

"Excuse me?" he asked again.

"My son is the only registered Arabian male around these parts," the man specified. "That was the reason why I specified that the sculpture be of an Arabian man."

Duo had been right about Quatre. He was, indeed, Arabian after all. Trowa stopped to think about it. A picture of his son would have been a more inexpensive option, but he could not deny the romantic aspect of this approach.

"May I ask," Trowa said with caution. "Why did you decide to commission an artwork of your son rather than visit him? Wouldn't it have been the more practical option?"

"Quatre ran away from home a few years ago," his client specified. "I've caught wind that he ended up around these parts. I came for a visit, but I didn't want to intrude. What better way to check on him without actually having to contact him?"

He was right. Trowa felt his inner self applauding his perfect intuition. There had always been something about Quatre and the way he carried himself that alluded to refinement and wealth. He had been pampered as a child. It was obvious from the way his supple skin glowed with abundant health.

Trowa raised his eyes to view the face of the sculpture before staring at the rest of the body. The Arabian man was a little more naked now. Little by little he was able to undress Quatre. With time, he would achieve complete mastery of the enigma that graced him with his presence not long ago. With a bit more patience and perseverance Quatre would stand fully bare before him. It was the most alluring of propositions.

"Did you find him at a construction site?"

"Perhaps," Trowa replied for it was not him who found Quatre. All had been Duo's achievement. Now that he thought about it, Quatre was a gift from his dear friend.

"This boy," his client said while gesturing to the sculpture. "He left home, but he still can't leave home completely. How strange is it that he chose to work for me?"

The man chuckled like the father who knew of his wayward son's weakness.

"But I applaud his courage," the proud father continued. "Not just to get his hands dirty, but to be handled by you as well. There are rumors about you as you are probably aware of, but you are the best there is. My boy is proud. He would not have let anyone else handle him the way he let himself be handled by you."

Trowa refused to look at him. The things he did to this man's son - it was not the type of thing to be discussed so carelessly. It would certainly not embarrass him, but he respected the model from which he'd completed his latest piece. Quatre would surely protest if he were present.

"It was not easy," Trowa chose to say instead because the most memorable of the moments with him had been the stubborn attitude and the unyielding arrogance that made him such an invigorating pursuit. One of these days, he really had to find him. It was only fair when his eager hands had been deprived of his feel and texture.

Time did seem to be merciful towards him because at the end of that season, his luck had changed and when spring had finally come, his goal had come closer to him than he thought possible. Although the snow of the winter had melted for the most part, the air was still chilled from the remnants of the harsh winter.

"Black coffee please."

His hands truly hated when he went outside on cold days.

"Thank you," he said as he held on to the cup with both hands. The coffee would give him at least a few minutes of good use before it went cold on him.

Deciding that his bare hands on the too hot cup would be sweet relief, Trowa placed the cup down on a nearby table and took his gloves off. In the time it took him to stuff the gloves into his pockets and pick up the paper cup, he noticed a familiar head. Even from across the street the memorized head was easily visible. His lips moved the tiniest bit upward. That haughty neck was so easy to spot. He left the cup on the table and put his gloves back on.

Jogging across the street, Trowa found it odd that Quatre was working in exactly the type of place his father said. Stranger yet was the fact that Quatre was not lying when he said that he worked with his hands. He looked concentrated as he hammered an already bent metal rod while he sat precariously on a long 2x4 being held in place with nothing more than wires wrapped around metal holdings.

Trowa approached slowly. There were a few women giggling from Quatre's hanging feet. He was not aware of it as he continued to work diligently.

"Excuse me," Trowa said as he too positioned himself below the dangling feet.

Embarrassed that they were caught staring at an unaware man, the women backed away while continuing to giggle. That was when Quatre looked down. His construction hat looked like it was going to fall off his head as he craned his neck sideways. He blinked a couple of times with a look of confusion.

"Trowa?" he asked before taking his gloved hands of f the metal he was striking and securing the hammer to his tool belt for safety.

"I wanted to inquire about some prime advertising space," Trowa responded while managing to keep a straight face.

"Advertising space?" Quatre questioned as his brows furrowed.

"I just assumed," Trowa said as he stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets. "That since you appear to have many viewers fixated on your buttocks, that I might be able to use the space with success."

Quatre crossed his arms in the same defiance Trowa knew so well.

"Do tell what kind of slogan you would slap on my rear."

Trowa reached for the inside of his coat pocket and retrieved his inventive form of a 'flyer'. It was bulky in most places, but he thought that the unique quality of it was attractive enough. It was unorthodox, but then again most of what he did was unorthodox.

"A stuffed Trowa?" Quatre asked with near excitement. His eyes shined with happiness as he stared at the advertisement. The sunlight was truly magnificent on him. "It's--"

"A doll," Trowa finished. He threw the miniature version of himself up at Quatre and stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

"Trowa Barton - Doll Maker," Quatre read out loud from the sign hanging from the stuffed doll's neck. "Contact Duo at 555-4263 for details."

Trowa stared up at his former model. He was truly beautiful from any angle and with the way his face contorted into one of delight; Trowa was tempted into making more of those dolls just to see him that way. Those cheek muscles were just too captivating as they firmed and lifted with the smile.

"This is the most adorable thing I've ever seen," Quatre said as he poked the doll. "I didn't know you sewed."

"I did mention I was a doll-maker," Trowa said while shrugging. He didn't exactly condone false advertising.

"But," Quatre protested. He couldn't seem to find the right words. "This isn't something I would have expected from you," he said.

"I didn't expect you to build buildings either," Trowa admitted. When Quatre had said he needed the extra money, he'd just assumed that he was lying. Now he understood that construction work must have been halted during the coldest days of winter due to hazardous conditions.

"I like this doll," Quatre said. He squeezed it with both hands and held it in front of him. "Can I have it?"

"Sure, but I need the advertising space in exchange," Trowa said. He was still a businessman after all. He'd starve to death if he didn't get clients on a regular basis even if they were clients that preferred dolls over statues.

"Why not," Quatre responded before securing the doll on his tool belt. It hung from his back directly covering part of his posterior. "How's this?" he said with a laugh.

"I want you at my workstation tonight," Trowa responded instead. "I need to do a more thorough study of your body. I am not done paying for your services."

A few passers-by tripped on their own feet. Trowa's stare on Quatre did not waver. Quatre seemed to hesitate but still kept his gaze on him as well.

"Tell me," Quatre said with a tilt of his head. "What did you do when I left?"

"I recreated you," Trowa responded against the sound of machinery in the background. "I made a version of you for my client and the other version, I worshipped."

The Quatre that he worshipped was covered in a net of ropes chiseled from the same marble from which the body was made. He imprisoned that piece and studied it. His skin could still feel the tingle from the contact as he worked to get his fingers through the marble ropes to barely touch the naked form within. It was sweet torture. Duo had decided that it was sheer madness.

"That's not much different from our positions right now," Quatre responded with a slight smile. "You're presently worshipping me," he pointed out. Indeed Trowa was looking up at him from below.

"Let me worship your body more thoroughly," he said as he continued to look up. "I can assure you that my worshipping will have nothing to do with the creation of dolls or statues."

Quatre only stared at him, but that night, the same, speechless man was standing naked before him. Trowa had only one thing to say.

"I like you," he finally admitted before his hands, his nose, and his mouth moved upon the request of his Arabian doll. Call it a hunch, but he thought Quatre was quite pleased.

The End.


End file.
